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Form No. A -368 

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Vol. IV. 

FEBRUARY, 1855. 

No. 1. 


The tongue is the organ of society — 
the condition of friendship. Let us 
consider its use in each of these rela- 

As I open my eyes upon the world 
around me, a great variety of objects 
meets my sense, and solicits my atten 
tion. Each has its several message, and 
imparts it according to its peculiar pow- 
er. The soul within me receives the 
impression, and interprets to itself every 
symbol, and penetrates to the meaning, 
which lies hidden under them all. First 
of all am I struck with the general 
frame of the external world, which we 
call nature. I observe the vastness of 
its amplitude, the manifoldness of its 
forms, its order and stability; huge 
mountains, endless prairies, the encom- 
passing ocean, the changes of the rising 
and setting sun, the unvarying recur- 
rence of seasons, the harmonious inter- 
changes of the stars. All these things 
are out of me : foreign to me. They 
surprise, delight, overawe me, fill my 
sense with aching wonder, agitate my 
mind with perplexing questions, move 
me with emotions of sublimity; but 
they are yet no part of me, and have 
Vol. IV.— 1. 

no direct relation to my own being.— ^ 
They are a lifeless product, or it may 
be living their own life, in a mode di- 
verse from mine, and which it pains me 
to attempt to understand. They are a 
beautiful apparition, more permanent 
perhaps than I, yet to me only an ap- 
parition, which I contemplate with 
pleasure, and which may yet pass away 
and leave my own life unimpaired, and 
from which I shall pas almost without 
regret. I find no fellowship here, no 
sympathy, no response to my most ear- 
nest questionings, nor even a middle 
term which may serve to unite us. In 
all this magnificence, I feel solitary, and 
a stranger. And, however, we were 
made for each other, I can not but feel 
that it is not of me, nor I of it. 

Nor is the case altered, when I with- 
draw myself from this dwelling on tb«~ 
whole, and come, as it befits so small 
a creature as man to do, to the consid- 
eration of details. I walk in the green 
forest hardly more at home, ihan o» 
the barren moor. The trees are beauti- 
ful around me, rich in the odours of 
their fresh life, nobly arrayed in trail- 
ing vines, uplifting their branches proud- 


ly, as if human arms, and their spread- 
ing tops, as if they too would look into 
the heavens; yet there they stand, im- 
moveable, mute, unquestionable, and 
give no token of a likeness to that which 
is within me, beyond what my fancy 
has first given them. They have pow- 
er indeed, but not will ; life indeed, but 
not conscious life ; growth, but no 
thought. I have no more than an im- 
age of companionship with them. — 
Among their spreading boughs rests a 
flock of birds, or beneath their ample 
shade sports the wild deer. In their 
free and frolicsome motions, I may hope 
to find what I seek, some second si If, 
something that can tell me what I am, 
and meet me half-way, as my shadow 
in a fountain. But they will not allow 
the claim of kindred. My approach 
scares the pigeon from his perch, the 
trout from his sunny shallow, the 
dee p from his leafy covert. They treat 
me as an alien. And I speedily consent 
to their aversion : for I find them too 
dumb, unmeaning, wild rovers whom 
food and drink suffice, whose eyes be- 
tray no reason, or conscious soul. 

But if in this living wilderness, a hu- 
man form is seen, at once I recognize a 
counterpart of myself. Instantly I feel 
that I am not alone : all — one. There is 
at least another who thinks, feels, en- 
joys, acts, as I do. We are aware, in- 
stinctively, of our common nature, and 
with no ceremonial of introduction, feel 
that we have an interest in each other, 
and begin without delay or reserve that 
commerce of thought and feeling which 
can go on through the eyes, and rude 
signs, in which we need no teacher, and 
which are at once evidence of the com- 
munity of our being, and are made in- 

telligible only by the fact of that com- 
munity. He becomes to me, what I 
had vainly sought elsewhere, a fellow ; 
a reflection of myself, one in whom I 
am mirrored to myself, conscious of all 
that I am conscious of, and having the 
same relations to all other things. We 
fain turn our backs upon the forest, and 
all its voices of life and gladness, and 
walk forth lovingly together, and build 
one hut, share one meal, lie on the same 
couch of grass, go out to the same la- 
bour, and the same sport, and feel, all 
(he while, that in our hearts is the same 
thought, the same affection, even as in 
our eyes is limned tLe same prospect, 
which we gaze upon togt-ther. And 
because we feel ourselves thus to be of 
one nature, we shall abide together, 
forsaking all other companionship, in 
this close union, till death summon one 
of us away ; and the survivor shall shed 
tears, and build a monument, and carry 
ever a green memory of him in the sad- 
ness of a grieved heart. And this so- 
ciety shall exist, and be thus continued, 
even if there be between the two no 
other intercourse than that of looks, 
and inarticulate signs ; and they shall 
never dream of finding the like in any 
other than a human form, and every 
other however fair, every hope however 
attractive, every enjoyment however 
rich, gathered from other sources, shall 
only send the heart unsatisfied, and with 
a sense of widowed solitariness, back, 
with a deeper longing to the sympa- 
thies of its human mate. Such is hu- 
man society acting at every disadvan- 
tage, so instructive, of so free a choice, 
so permanent. And of this society, the 
bond and organ is the tongue. By it 
are satisfied the leading wants of our 


nature, which especially urge men to 
social intercourse, and which, without 
it, must perpetually agitate and waste 
the soul of man — the desire of self 
knowledge, and the desire of self-com- 

The disclosures which the forms of 
external nature make to us of our own 
individual and separate being are slight 
and imperfect. We come soon from 
the first actings of our sense to learn 
the essential antagonism there is be- 
tween us; that it is not ourself, but on- 
ly somewhat beside ourself, and which 
may be a help, or a hindrance — we can- 
not tell. Beside this, our intercourse 
with the material world is a little more 
than a t iking back of what we have 
already givi-n it. The forms of beauty 
we find there, the graceful and delicate 
sentiments which we gather up from 
communion with it, are but a gazing 
on our own image — an echo of our 
own voice, another, and yet the same. 
They are of us, not of it. They had 
already sprung up in our own souls, and 
had no existence without us : though 
we think we see them out of us, very 
much as we think we see ourselves in a 

But when we converse with a man, 
witness his actions, observe his gait, his 
air, his gestures, the play of passionate 
excitement in his face, the expressions 
of his desire, disgust, love, hate, fear, 
sorrow, it is all and only a disclosure to 
us of what we are. The swinging of a 
bough in the wind conveys no such 
meaning as the hasty step of an angry 
man. The soothing peacefulness of a 
mountain lake makes no such revela- 
tion, as does the calmness of an inno- 
eent old age, or the slumbers of a child- 

The tones of a human voice, in joy or 
sadness, touch us more deeply, and 
awaken more tender emotions, than the 
music of falling waters, or the song of 
birds. And this, because it is our own 
humanity that speaks in him — our com- 
mon nature, uttering iis wants or grat- 
ulations in him, as it might do in us. 
We have a thorough sympathy with 
him. We may some day feel the like, 
and we shall then speak as he does : 
and so we learn from him what has not 
yet come to pass in our own experience, 
as children, watching their elders, learn 
the sense of care and weariness, long 
before the like, in the reality, overlays 
them. Thus have we a sound, though 
anticipative, knowledge of what we are 
and what we can do. And much, in 
this regard, as mere observation can in- 
form us — for every man's thoughts utter 
themselves in smiles and tears, blushes, 
and frowns, and his character may be 
seen as well in the convulsive twitchings 
of his fingers, or a shambling gait, as 
words can tell it — still the tongue re- 
veals more than they all, enters into 
nicer distinctions, tells more exactly our 
shifting impulses, and imparts to us in- 
numerable thoughts and purposes, 
which no other organ can convey, 
opens concealed policies, unfolds inten- 
tions which the face is trained to hide, 
and lets us into the recesses of hypoc- 
risy, and carries us through every cav- 
ern, cleft, and crevice of the human 
heart. And as one after another is un- 
folded to us, of the principles and pas- 
sions, that sway our neighbor's life, do 
we learn more surely than any self-in- 
spection can inform us, the secret ten- 
dencies that are within us, and know 
that thing we are, or shall be. 


This process of self-instruction goes on 
always. Whenever two men meet, each 
is a teacher, each is taught, all words 
that pass between them, all looks and 
acts, all unconscious a' d evanescent ut- 
terances of the woi kings of the soul 
within, are understood, and registered : 
and the two shall never part without 
some increase of knowledge, some 
change of character, some influence 
completely reciprocal. As each learns 
of the other, each communicates him- 
self: and it matters not for this purpose 
where may be the meeting, in the lec- 
ture room, the courthouse, the market, 
the gateway, the roadside. No more 
it matters who are the parties. The 
wise may learn from the fool, and the 
fool has ears likewise. Each has his 
own knowledge, his own experience, 
which every other man may profit by. 
Doubtless the hard handed man in 
homespun, who jogs beside you on your 
journey, has had his trials and suecesses, 
which it may be worth your while to 
hear, loves his wife and children as well 
as you do. understands as much of the 
operation of the tariff, is better skilled 
in the weather, and certainly knows 
more of corn and turpentine. Per- 
chance too, he is, in some things, at 
least, a better man than you are : can 
lie harder, fare coarser, face biting winds 
and frost with less shrinking, has a 
brawnier muscle, can do more work. 
Perhaps he is contented withal, and 
prays God to bless him as he girds him- 
self to his daily labour, and utters, all 
day long, the thanks of a cheerful spir- 
it, for the sunlight, and a quiet home. 
a fit companion for the journey of a 
prince, were such a man. 
And if he does not know more things, 

or other things than you do, he knows 
them otherwise, and his statement of 
them becomes, therefore, a new knowl- 
edge to you. The thoughts which men 
have are never pure judgements. We 
cannot, it we would, behold the objects 
which our daily life presents to us, in 
the diy light of reason. What we see 
in them is, never their own simple na- 
ture, not their mere actual relations, but 
a projection of our own being upon 
them. We transfer our own character, 
in some of its manifold phases to them, 
and receive again an impression made 
up of them and of us. A flower is not, 
nor can be, the same thing to a botan- 
ist, and to a child. Laws of morals 
are one thing to him who obeys, and 
a very different one to him who has 
disobeyed them. Henry Clay is not 
the same man in the eye of whig and 
democrat. Every act, event, object, 
has so many aspects as there are men 
who contemplate it : is capable of as 
many dissections as a polypus,- reflects 
the light, under some new refraction, 
from every face of an infinitely varied 
crystallization. Therefore, is it, that the 
commonest incident in our streets, at 
the corner of the market, becomes a 
new story in the college campus, and 
still diverse at the Eagle Hotel. There- 
fore, is it, also, that as you pass from 
house to house, you hear a neighbor 
praised here, and condemned there, one 
calling his charity extravagance, and 
another ostentation. If you speak your 
mind in the hearing of two men, you 
shall be as variously reported of before 
sunset, as if you had contradicted your 
own speech. They will not lie, indeed, 
nor wilfully misrepresent you, but your 
thought passes into minds of unlike 


training, and takes new form in each, 
and undergoes a several distillation as 
complete, with results as little resem- 
bling, as the must and vinegar which 
come of the same grape. All this, ev- 
ery body takes for granted in hearing; 
and unconsciously acts upon, and del. b- 
eratelv adds to his neighbor's statement, 
or subtracts from it, according as he 
knows his m-ighbor's bias to be; and so 
eery man speaks not only the meaning 
of his words, but much more, much of 
his own habits <_f thought and fooling, 
his princ'ples of morals, his sentiments 
of taste, his \iews of human life, all 
which the hearer marks and treasures 
up, as certainly as he do -s the express- 
ed judgment. Out of this fact, arises 
much of the charm of that most famil- 
ial* use of the tongue in conversation : 
and from it also, come the laws, limits, 
and u-es of the same. 

A large part of the interc utr-e of 
men is of a mere touch-and g > charac- 
ter. Every man is engrossed by his 
sep irate interest, painting or chasing 
his own bubble, and has but little leisuie 
for the needs, much less for the whims 
of others. Our life is veiy much a 
scramble, in which he is the lucky one, 
who has a quick eve, a swift foot, and a 
ready hand: in which no one m ->y de- 
fer to the claims or stand a-ide for the 
convenience of his fel!o»', but to his 
own hindrance. Hence it entries, that 
beyond the r< c pro al communications 
which tin's jostling ra.e demands, men 
have little inclination for any inter- 
change O;' thoughts. They can speak 
of the weather as they meet, report the 
news of th"! day, talk of health and 
sickmss, throw out a morsel of scandal, 
discuss the fall of stocks, the price of 

c irn, the elections ; but can seldom pass 
into sustained and deliberate discourse* 
Yet, even in those tran»ient talks, where 
conversation seems to have no higher 
end, than the statement of some fact, 
the giving of an opinion, or a greeting 
of courtesy, more passes between the 
parties than they may imagine. It is 
no easy matter to state a fact accurate- 
ly and he who gives his opinion on one 
point, opens his whole character to the 
light, and the manner of salutation, be 
it graceful or clownish, ttdls at once the 
whole story of his birth and breeding. 
Mine best who stands behind his bar, 
can tell by his first address, 'the weight 
of each new comer, and whether he 
has money in his purse, as well as he 
can good coin by ringing it on the 
counter. A shrewd observer of men 
will go through the groups that gather 
on the muster field, or at a mass meet- 
ing, and by the hearing of their casual 
lemarks, will judge nearly as faiily of 
I hem as you and I who have known 
them for years. We are commonly un- 
conscious of this process, and hut half 
aware of the result, because we are fa- 
mil'ar with each other, though herein 
I es more than half the value of all our 
chance meetings; but let a stranger 
come up, arrd put in a word, and we 
take the guage of him at once. Who 
are you ? What right have you to 
counr-el us? What are your words 
worth ? Are questions which we an- 
swer in the hearing, just as all the boys 
in a :-cho 1 leave their own tasks and 
listen with open ear*, when a new boy 
says his fir.>t le>son. There is no such 
thii g as an exact definition of the 
words of our colloquial language. If 
yt u measure the proposition, your friend 



has just uttered, by Johnson and Walk- 
er, it is not true. That is not what we 
meant. You need a further interpreter. 
Rather you can interpret his words only 
because you know the man. When the 
boor and the astronomer say the sun 
rises and sets, they do not mean the 
same thing, though they use the same 
words. The doctrine that ' virtue is its 
own reward,' has a certain abstract sig- 
nificancy, definite enough to make it 
pass current among men : but, from the 
lips of the moralist, the politician, the 
swindler, the voluptuary, it comes in 
unlike sense, as gold from the crucible 
and from the mine. 

Beside the knowledge then one 
gets from conversation, the direct 
answer to his question, the solution 
of his doubts, he gains also a further 
insight into our common nature, 
and becomes allied to it under a new 
point of contact. These two gains do 
perpetually blend together, and can 
not be disjoined ; and only as one or 
the other is tlie laiger element, does 
our conversation seem to be of a diverse 
kind, and, as we say, practical or intel- 
lectual. And of the two, which were 
of higher worth, one can hardly doubt 
who has a true sense of what our hu- 
manity is, and how much more that 
which concerns all men, concerns every 
man, than do his present, partial, and 
seeming interests. There would seem 
then to be a two-fold law of con versation: 

1st. That the thing said be worth 
saying; and, 

2d, That it be said in a sincere spirit. 

Where both these laws are observed? 
there conversation is perfect in kind, and 
the end of that intercourse is fully at- 
tained. And when either chiefly, we 

are yet instructed, or interested in the 
one case, as we may be profited by a 
sensible though dull sermon, and as 
John Bunyan shrunk with dread under 
the rebuke of a kindred blasphemer; 
*nd in the other, as we are always mov- 
ed by his words, who honestly speaks 
out the indignation or the sorrow of his 

It is worthy of remark, how very 
much of our conversation is about per- 
sons. And this not only because the 
actions of men are more easily appre- 
hended, than ideas, and abstractons ; 
nor chiefly from the malicious pleasure 
most men have in hearing others spok- 
en ill of ; but maitily because they are 
men, of passions, pursuits, and a destiny 
like our own. In the least (and the 
most) cultivated portions of society this 
tendency is most conspicuous. In the 
kitchen they tell only what such an one 
has said or done, who is dead, who is to 
be married, and the like. In the parlor 
where too the same propensity has its 
share of influence, we hear literary top- 
ics broached, questions of taste argued, 
books criticised, " measures not men," 
canvassed. In deliberative assemblies 
the discussions lose still more of this 
personality, and touch on masses of 
men, states, generations; and at the 
highest reach, in the discussions of the 
schoo's, entities, and quiddities, and 
pure idealisms are alone within the scope 
of argument. 

This personal character of our 
thoughts gives a peculiar aspect to tho^e 
meetings for social recreation, which 
we love so much to indulge in : and in 
soirees, and the like, "I arid you, he and 
she," are painfully prominent. We ask 
who is engaged, who has failed, who 


is henpecked, how such an one sings or 
waltzes, what is the newest fashion, what, 
is the latest scandal : and when we have 
exhausted one source of this most edi- 
fying information, pass on with content 
ed eagerness to another. All this were 
not to be complained of, were it not 
that too often the matters spoken of are 
trivial. For surely to be engaged is no 
light thing, even to a spectator, when 
we judge rightly of it, but frivolous 
enough as it is commonly spoken of. — 
To speak of per>onal topics argues no 
weakness, yet one may wonder why we 
hear, in such places, so seldom, the in- 
quiry who has done a good deed, given 
way to a generous sentiment, and 
achieved a noble action. 

We often hear social intercourse, 
where many are assembled, spoken of as 
insipid, and relief is sought from its 
dulness,in music, and dancing and wine. 
One reason doubtless of all this is that 
we have not made ourselves ready to 
converse ; and therefore have no knowl- 
edge of the pleasure which a true con- 
versation can impart. 

The art of conversing is not studied, 
as an art. We trust altogether to the 
impulse of the occasion, and find too of- 
ten that the occasion brings no impulse. 
I would not that any man should get 
up his conversation beforehand, arrange 
his topics, anecdotes, smart sayings, 
studying out his impromptus, or, worst 
of all preparing a wilful harangue. — 
Then all becomes constrained. The 
easy flow of remark is interrupted, and 
he forsooth, must guide it, if he would 
not lose his foregone labour. Conver- 
sation is a game of give and take : a 
feast to which every one brings his 
scrap : and of which the dice mu^t or- 

dain the master. I come to tell you 
my thought, and to hear yours. I may 
suggest the subject as well as you. I 
will not be defrauded of my right ; and 
if one claims to dictate the current in 
which our words shall move, we will 
withdraw from his circle, even with 
the loss of a button. My thought is as 
good as yours, if it be less eloquently 
said, less pertinent, less profound, yet 
because it is mine, and not yours till I 
i:ave spoken it. Our bargain is of an 
equal exchange, and if either of us gets 
boot, it is a condescension, and not in the 
bond. The law of discourse is different. 
There many agree to hear one. They 
consent to be listeners. Yet how irk- 
i-ome this is in any mixed company, the 
changing audience of the most attrac- 
tive discourser can best tell. I have, 
not seldom heard such men, and more 
often those who would be thought such, 
and who had much reputation for col- 
loquial powers, and I find in the most 
no other power than a bare fluency of 
words. They are, commonly, only 
manufactures of sentences, glib talkers, 
'' tonguey men," as the Yankees call 
them : men who will utter a half hour's 
words, on any subject, at a moment's 
warning, with much pomp of phrase, 
and some vehemence of gesture, and all 
without so much as " by your leave.'' 
And this passes for eloquent conversa- 
tion. Discourse it certainly is : elo- 
quent, it may be, but conversation it 
certainly is not. The secret of collo- 
quial power does not lie here. Else we 
must listen, in patient admiration, to 
the voluble poet, whom Horace tells of, 
who could pour forth two hundred 
verses, standing on one foot. 

We never care to have our admira- 


tion extorted from u*, much less do we 
yield it toplausib/e pretension. We. do 
not go into society to sbovv ourselves, nor 
will we consent that our neighbor sbali 
be the spectacle. We would entertain 
each oilier, have our feelings moved, 
our wit* sharp ned, by a mutual exci- 
tation. What most moves and amuses 
us, is shrewd r murk, keen sense, wit, in- 
sight, ab '.ve all the g> nial play of senti- 
ment and emotion, which springs from 
a genuine sympathy with man in his 
common's*, ard therefore decp?s f , rela- 
tions. To please in this communion, 
one needs not so much a mind full, as 
active, an eye ever open, and a warm 
heart. We can spare remote learning, 
brilliant sallies of fancy. We would 
not care for speculations, and thoughts 
or image-* out of the common course. 
We would speak of things which ha\e 
an interest f >r us all, the event of yes- 
terday, the prospect of 10-ruorrow. We 
may not obtrude our private grief, otrr 
fcivonte theme of meditation. Let them 
rest in their own corner in our heart. I 
cave very little whether you have com- 
pu ! e;l the orbit of the last comet. Yon 
might not be pi- a ed if I should quote 
Microbm", or Dion Cassius. We have 
common ground enough in the actions, 
principles, duties, which concern our 
daily 1 fe ; in the ideas which perv de 
the community in which we live; in 
the pursuits which cultivated minds 
are eviry where familiar with. To 
speak wisely of these is no slight mat- 
ter; and d< mam's, not a special prepa- 
ration fur this or that occasion — for true 
Conversation defies all occasion, and is 
ma le up of accidents — but that large and 
tboroug'i training, which enables one 
to speak a true thought, whenever a tit 
opportunity shall call for it. 

And, therefore, of more use than 
knowledge in conversation, is sincerity. 
Not that one should in every company 
i xhaust his mind, or lay his heart bare. 
All must have some thoughts in reserve, 
some unsunned feelings, which it were 
sacrilege to expose. But that whatever 
he says be his honest thought touching 
the matter of which he speaks. One 
has said, with abundance of satire, that 
"the tongue was given to conceal 
thoughts." I care not how much one 
may chcose to leave unspoken. But I 
may insist that what he says shall be 
his sincere conviction. Much of the 
profit cf conversation, is in the compa- 
rison of my judgment with yours. The 
subject comes up to me in a new aspect, 
and there is a disclosure withal of your 
mind. I have, thereby, a new element 
of rectification, and go away, it mav bo 
a wiser and a better man. To express 
thus an honest thought is no eveiy-day 
adventure. We judge very much by 
halves, as our fancy prompts, as our 
whim inclines, as our interest leads us, 
or as some rule of mere judgment, or 
some wilful half principle compels us. 
Our thought should be the utterance of 
our entire being, an out going of the 
total force that is in us : no mere opin- 
ion, or partial conclusion, but a true 
generation, in which fancy, reason 
heart, soul, experience, all combine. A 
man, therefore, who converses well, will 
sometimes not be able to conver.-e at all. 
And because he is not a mere flippant 
talker, or retailer of current .opinions : 
but one who would say somewhat of 
himself, and must speak freely, if at all. 
The salient impulse may ' e wanting, 
he needs to brood longer over the germ 
that is growing into life within him. or 


tbe time has not c< me, when his 
thought wi!| fay in with the conditions 
that are around him. 

I hive sometimes imagined how like 
a Quaker meeting our assembles for 
conversation would he, if we end not 
force ourselves to talk in spite of the 
hints and resistances of our own na- 
ture ; how we too should wait in silent 
expectation, and how many a gay laugh 
would be hushed, and how many 
speeches of premeditated brilliancy 
would be cat shoit, Low our aiu^uer- 
ade would become mum, and as a 
gr up of* fantast c statues, should we all 
wait till the spirit of a free and true 
thought, should urge us to apeak : and 
how our affected merriment, which 
bvery one sees through, our foiced con- 
ceit*, our grave speeches, do in fact, 
and to every man's apprehension to>, 
conv ct ns of a social hypocrisy. And I 
have thought that we might fiord a pat- 
tern of what our intei course should be, 
in the (h-tt of children. They speak of 
what I hey undeistand, tell freely what 
they think, and feel. They do not put 
on a is of superiority, me no dsjjuisfs, 
have no artful conei altuents. 1 hey 
hav ih'-ir own world, of fact and fab.e, 
real ty and romance, in which they have 
a common interest, and open it all to 
each < tlr r in credulous tiusifdness, and 
hearty conviction. And if their babble 
is n t always wisdom, it. is perchance 
as wi-e as ours is, less often stained 
with malicious satire, or darkened with 
scand dons insinuation, and he it g-a\e 
or playful, uttered always in the freedom 
Of a -i cere and fearless sprit. 

There is a wi le difference between 
the use <?f the tongue in tbe intercourse 
of miscellaneous society, and in that 

when two only, of choice, commune 
together. We go into society to gain 
re'ief from cares, and the weariness of 
oppressive occupations. Too often, in- 
deed, we flee fiom the solitude of our 
own thoughts, and strive to lose all 
conscious. ess of our separate being, in 
the distinctions of a crowd. II- • is no 
lover of wisdom, a stranger : s he to the 
light of a true inward fife, who !-as 
not learned the priceless discipline 
of self-communing, nor found a per- 
petaal satisfaction in the meditations of 
his own heart. And hardly other than a 
fool is he who hopes, in any tumult of t his 
world's affairs, to be ever unhaimted of 
himself. The foul thought, the evil 
purpose, which made his loneliness hard 
to bear, shall go with him into the gid- 
diest whirl of human occupations, and 
cling to him as his shadow. In the hur- 
rying prtssof business, and by thethr ng 
of human forms, i ha tare flitting an und, 
that shadow may by interc jved fo- a mo- 
ment, hut the great, sun is always in the 
heavens, and our daikemd image must 
follow us evermore, lie who wou'd 
converse with himself, is the common 
saying, should see to it, th; t he con- 
verse with a good man. And because 
our own companionship is distasteful, 
we judge ourselves forced to lake ref- 
uge, in the chance fellowship of others, 
from the sad infliction of ourselves up- 
on ourselves. 

The heathen wisdom of Pythagwras 
penetrated to the seciet < ffie;;c,y of si- 
lence, and enjoined it ns the in tiat : on 
for him who wou'd behold the truth' 
The "christian wisdom of the Asceticsbf 
Egypt and Palestine, superadded to 
their penitence of vigi's and fasffngs, 
an abs-jlute seclusion and a xoicehss 



solitude. Would thacin our day, men 
had not foresworn tbe experience of the 
past, and come to imagine a better 
hnowli dge, and surer satisfaction — rath- 
er a Lethe of all knowledge, a brief and 
uncertain drowning of all restless tears— 
in a confused babblement of tongues. 
But, even to those who delight in retir- 
ed contemplations, it is most heathful 
sometimes to quit their cells, and ex- 
pose their thoughts to the rude contact 
or cheerful sympathy of other minds 
We are n.>t ergles, to soar ever above. 
We gather dust and cobwebs in our 
solitary apartments. If we could keep 
our meditations always active, out 
hearts would contract barshne-s and 
rust. The fountain of our feelings will 
break forth to the clay, or become vapid 
and dead. If intellect be the eye of the 
soul, it cannot well bear the bright 
shimmer of a constant light, and the 
gentle sway of the affections is its re- 
pose. And, if knowledge alone, and 
not true manliness were our right aim, 
we find much of its better sorts only in 
intercourse with our fellows. The sight 
even of one will sometimes stir in us a 
better impulse towards a lofty learning, 
than many days poring over our books, 
and eduction of our individual fancies. 
There is withal in the wisest and best 
of us, an instinctive yearning for a com- 
panionship out of ourselves. We would 
have some other to confide in. Wheth- 
er it be, that we have some conscious- 
ness of our own weakness, and look for 
a support; or that mysterious law of 
nature, which some philosophers have, 
discoursed of, which is continually 
prompting every human being to seek 
out its duplicate; or a sirong sense of 
that, which every man feels in some 

degree, a disposition to communicate 
himself, to share his joys and griefs, 
hopes and aspirations, and a feeling that 
whatever remains solitarily in us is a 
burthen. I his desire urges men, of 
necessity, to some forms of society, is 
one of the inward promptings, out of 
which society arises, and is gratified in 
a degree, by all the modes and condi- 
tions, under which men impart their 
thoughts to eacli other, even the most 
accidental. It is a pleasant thing, and 
indulges our social propensity, to chat 
an hour, on indifferent matters, with a 
neighbor, 'or whom even we have no 
regard beyond the pleasure he thus af- 
fords us ; to exchange the salutations 
of the morning with him who trudges 
by our door, to utter courteous greetings 
or make nods, which mean as mueh, to 
the traveler wbo passes us on the high- 
way : in all these ways, as in the fo- 
rum, the debating club, the mass-meet- 
ing, and the market, does the tongue 
become the oigan and the token, of 
each to each, of fellow feeling and a 
common nature. 

Yet these relations are contingent 
and evanescent. They gratify our in- 
stinct: they do not satisfy it. We 
need something more permanent. We 
need even a firmer assurance. We ask 
perpetually not only for identity of na- 
ture, but likeness in cliaiacter, in some 
at least, whom we may converse with. 
There is a natural modesty, which 
leads men to keep (heir thoughts in re- 
serve, and a distrust which comes of 
much niingliug with the world, and 
which operates the 'same way, both of 
which have overdrawn our simple-feel- 
ings with a kind of incrustation, which 
we do not suffer, one of whom we know 



nothing, to look through. Stand beside 
two, who are strangers, and watch their 
first efforts at. conversation. How cau- 
tiously they approach each other! Meas- 
uring each other's circumference as they 
go on, speaking at first of what men 
never dispute about, the weather, the 
crops, the news ; and as they approach 
politics or things ecclesiastical, throw- 
ing out feelers, rounding in their own 
sentiments, and using the lead al- 
ways, lest they touch on some hidden 
shoal. The first moments of every such 
intercourse are passed in finding each 
other out: in ascertaining their points 
of contact: and they do not speak free- 
ly till there comes this mutual under- 
standing. So it is among children : 
when a new boy comes on the play- 
ground, he stands aloof at first: the 
other boys are shy of choosing him in. 
They will wait tor some chance word 
that will show how much he knows of 
the game, or he comes in last, and may 
pick up the ball. He wants to see. 
what they can do. To-morrow, when 
they have tried him, he shall go in ac- 
cording to his merits. We demand all 
ihis mutual knowledge, and the confi- 
dence which proceeds thereupon - , for 
which we use these acts and delays, be- 
fore we can open ourselves unreserving- 
ly, as oftentimes we long to do, to our 
feilows. We are constantly putting 
forth efforts in this direction, tryiug 
one, then another, refusing this, disap- 
pointed in that, and though often re- 
pulsed, never giving up the quest till 
we find that great want of every hu- 
man heart, a friend. 

In an interview of two who are thus 
sure of each other, how merrily the 
tongue wags ! No tentative, and mu- 

tual questioning: no circumspect fore- 
casting, if this or that will suit : no 
taking back of opinions, no measured 
deliberateness in the expression of sen- 
timents; but frank, hearty talk, an 
honest recounting of adventure, experi- 
ence, judgment, feeling, a pouring of 
each into each, without stint, and in all 
the simplicity and fulness of an un- 
doubting affection. It is no mere rela- 
tion of teacher and pupil, no mere ask- 
ing and answering of questions, as is 
most of the conversation among us. It 
is something far higher than this, a 
spiritual coalescence, a union of souls, a 
blending of two natures in' one, in such 
refined sympathy and subtlest affinity 
of being, that any divisibleness of true in- 
terests shall be as treason against it. It 
isthe noblest form of human society. And 
when in ancient story, or poetic fable, 
or in the experience of our life, we find 
an approach even to a realization of 
this ideal, we feel proud of our human- 
ity. For it springs from no selfish im- 
pulses, excludes all by-ends, denies all 
jealous competitions, has no " mine and 
thine"' in its vocabulary, and in its 
pureness, singleness, intense mss, has 
the similitude of a more than mortal 
tenderness. And yet it shuts out no 
peculiarity of character, abates no 
roughness, leaves untouched the facul- 
ty of rude speech and severe thoughts, 
and binds together the strong and fee- 
ble, polished and rude, in a closer than 
fraternal union. Rather it is the gen- 
uine brotherhood, of which that com- 
munity is only a type, founded on no 
physical resemblances, and which is 
nourished by a celestial ichor. 

Everywhere two talk and the third man 
listens. There can be no conversation in 



a circle. Conversation is a reciprocity, 
and es emially dual. In your evening 
party, the wit and the wall-flower alike 
receive an undivided homage, and when 
a second admirer comes up, the first 
fees h nv-elf one too many, and moves 
away. So is it in the intercourse of 
friendship. The law is even more 
imperative here. Fir here is no affec- 
tation, or study of display. The words 
are spoken for that ear only that ap- 
preciates them, and would be chaDged 
to suit any oilier. We cannot, except 
in some general relation, esteem all 
men alike, and for the simple reason, 
they are not all alike. We have our 
antipathies, preferences, affections, as 
men actually seem to deserve them : 
and their deserts are various as then- 
persons. Nor do we know all alike. — 
An'.tlier may be more worthy than my 
fiiend, \et he is not my friend. We 
have not yet met, or in our fully we 
still wear « ur faces veiled, or the time 
of our union has not come, as many 
have known each other boy and giil 
youth and maiden, and never dreamed 
of love, till in after years, in some siu! 
den nspiratioti of regard they find ou 
that they were made for each oth. r. If no 
better reason can be given, Fur this pair- 
ing of friends throughout the woild, 
on<- m : >y peihaps be found, in that in- 
firmity of our nature, which mingle- 
witti the purity of this relation, some 
feeling of j a'ou- exclusivenc-ss, and thai 
the third i- trespassing on our domain. 
The conditions which i termine which 
two s'o l! he friend*, seem to he as in- 
scrutable as those which make it alway- 
iin | os-ihle to tell whether John will 
toake Joan his wife. M n will com- 
monly tell you, that a community of 

interest, taste, pur.-uits, unites them. — 
True, doubtless, in its degree. Yet such 
friend-hips, are in the main only tempo- 
rary combinations, which have no more 
resemblance to the true, than marriages 
of convenience have to love matches, 
which men say, are made in heaven. — 
It is not generally seen that like profes- 
s ; ons, however they may fling men of- 
ten together, and beget a certain com- 
monness of feeling, make them friends. 
I am yet to hear that a blacksmith has 
ches^n his confidant in other matters 
than those of his trade, because he was 
a blacksmith also. The scholar may se- 
lect his among scholars, and it may be 
unnatural that he should do otherwise, 
and yet he does not thus select him as 
such ; else, he must include all men of 
teaming in that category, or he must 
pick out the most learned of them all. 
The whole ti nth here is that for such 
reasons, we admit, one to that portion 
• four mind, which belongs to out jo'nt 
profession ; and never to an entire in- 
timacy, but for other qua! ties in him, 
and other reas >ns operating on u>. We 
may be pleased with his ta-te. aid in- 
structed by his stores of learning and 
delight to converse with him <>n these 
thing-, whilr* we stubbornly refuse to 
di-cl >se to him one secret of our hear 
The resemblance which this demand 
In s d>-< per them any scholast c < r arti- 
ficial attainments. It is more an apt- 
ness of nature, which may lead to kin- 
dr d pursuits, and is best developed in 
them, but which has ten thousand oth- 
er ways of attracting its like t*» it-elf: 
an aptness which has never been de- 
fined, I ut which he who lias a corres- 
pondence to it in himself, nil alone 
and will instantly iCcognise, just as he 



only whose eye is in the right angle 
can see the rainbow. Yet this aptness 
certainly implies a resemblance, as all 
the world-famous examples of this vir- 
tue, Theseus an 1 Pirithous, Pylades and 
Orestes, SJpio and Laelius, most abun- 
dantly teach. 

It seems to me, no less to imply di- 
versity. I would not have my friend 
to be altogether such as I am. I would 
not dis >wn him for a weakness, and 
perchance should love him more, that 
I find him in one point less than I, or 
At least, reduced to my sympathies ; but 
I would fain imagine in him, a pro- 
founder sensibility, a more heroic forti- 
tude, a wiser self mastery, than mine. 
For this very reason, because I have a 
weakness, do I demand in him strength ; 
because I am conscious of folly, I would 
have him wise. Women are said to 
look with most favour on brave men. — 
Being feeble, they look to another for 
defence. Grave men who never stir a 
jest have often a keen relish for the lu- 
dicrous and take delight in the compa- 
ny of the witty. 

Were all men perfect, could friend- 
ship ex'st? Could there beany pre- 
ference ? We should be rather as 
so many spheres, " totus teres et ro- 
>tuodus," as Ausonius hath it, having 
only one point common with any other, 
and the same for all. So then this hu- 
man virtue comes of human imperfec- 
tion, implies inequalities, and is design. 
«d to rectify them. It is not easy to 
make two plane surfaces steadily co 
here ; but let there be a depression on 
one side and a bulge on the other, and 
they can not slide one on the other ; let 
either orerlap, and they hang firmly 
together. So the prudent and the pro- 
digal may unite in the closest alliance, 

.and fool and knave often jingle togeth- 
er otherwise than in sound. 

Likeness brings men more frequently 
into transient relations, of conversation, 
visiting, dinner parties, and the like. But 
some essential and wide diversity there 
must be, or two can not Iiveon quietly in 
the permanent intimacies of friendship : 
no more than there can be mountains 
without vallies between, or than two Lke 
substances can by their union make a 
third. Yet as the likeness must not be 
complete, and yet must exist, so also 
the unlikeness must exist, and still not 
be too large. Oil and water cannot 
blend, nor the thoroughly selfish with 
the generous. Our moral antipathies 
are stronger than the repellancies of 
of nature. There must be then in all 
unions of man with man in the affinities 
of friendship, a general resemblance 
with particular diversities. Perhaps no 
more precise rule than this can be given. 
Not Plato, nor Cicero, nor Montaigne, 
have been able to draw a straiter line. 
In all matters which touch the region 
of the will and the affections, the intui- 
tions of a true feeling are the system of 
subtle fluxions, by which right and pro- 
priety are measured. 
One thing we may demand in our friend^ 
that in our relation shall be a perfect 
equality of fellowship. He shall not be a 
Mentor, and I only a Telemachus. I will 
not submit to any airs of superiority ; nor 
would any one of the temper that true 
friends are made of claim to be looked 
up to as the better of the two. I will 
consent to be guided, contiouled, held 
back by him, always by the sense of 
his goodness, by his virtaous presence, 
by the unspoken influence of an attrac- 
tive sympathy, and when need be, by 



sage counsel and kind remonstrance ; 
but, in all this there must be a com- 
plete reciprocation, and I must feel, or 
the bond that united us is broken, that 
I have some power to shape his life 
also, and may speak freely when my 
words can serve him. But for such 
mutual uses, nature would have im- 
planted no sentiment, ordained no law 
of friendship. In this commerce lies all 
its value, almost its life. Yet the chief 
services which men give and take in this 
relation are indirect and almost always 
unconscious on his part who gives as 
well as on his who receive* them. An- 
gry words, harsh reproofs, attempts to 
overawe and constrain, all thought of 
guiding by authority, or of restraining 
another's course and forming his char- 
acter by dictation, are out of place here. 
They are not worthy of him who would 
bear so high a name ; no more than 
are that tameness which will submit to 
arrogant censure, or that soft yieldiog- 

ness of character which only receives, 
and never imparts an impression. 

One whom the world thinks wise has 
said that he would have a friend to tell 
him his faults. But the spirit of a true 
friend works and shows itself in other 
and better ways. This may be a diffi- 
cult service, but often his eloquent si- 
lence is far more impressive. Be shall 
guide me by unspoken energies, by the 
worth of his own character. His hero- 
ism shall lift me to regions of lofty 
thought and ennobling action, to which, 
alone, I had never as: ired : his meek 
endurance teach me lessons of loveli- 
ness and passive virtue, which had else 
been beyond my scope. H3 shall, by 
his excellence, draw me out of myself, 
and as I walk onward by his side, I 
shall tread a greener earth and look up 
to brighter heavens, for by ray sympa- 
thies with him lam becoming transfig- 
ured into a wiser and better man. 


Literature is progressive. It keeps 
pace with the social and political con- 
dition of man. In its widest sense, it 
embraces the entire results of knowl- 
edge and fancy preserved in writing. — 
In the more distinctive and usual sense 
of the term, literature excludes the pos- 
itive sciences, and embraces history, 
grammar, rhetoric, logic, criticism, lan- 

guages, &c. In a still narrower sense, 
it is sometimes used as synonymous 
with the belles lettres, 'or polite litera- 
ture. To trace its progress through its 
man« fluctuations is, indeed, a different 
task. In one period, we see ii spring- 
ing up and advancing rapidly towards 
excellence; in another, languishing and 
verging to decay. Granting us th* 



progressive theory, we conclude that 
the emporium of the world's literature 
is richer now than it ever was, especial- 
ly when we consider the present condi- 
tion of man. Perhaps, no period of the 
world can boast such general diffusion 
of knowledge as the present. Is it un- 
reasonable then to conclude that litera- 
ture, which is written knowledge, is pro- 
portionally advancing? If we were 
told that in civilization and en ighten- 
ment, we are just where the most en- 
lightened of ihe ancients were, methinks, 
even " Young America" would be slow 
to believe it, and yet we deny advance- 
ment in literature, which is attendant 
on these. True, there are contradictory 
opinions : one reads the past, and that 
alone, and places all literary excellence 
there; another reads the present, and 
with an eastern devotion, bows at its 
literary shrine. He believes that our 
forefathers were a race of seai-savages, 
any thing but literary. 

From the very nature of the case, the 
present age must have more literature 
than any of the past ages, and I think 
we might add, more literary men, and 
even a higher grade of literature. This 
follows from our first, second, and third 
definitions of the term, and from the 
present condition of the world. Hav- 
ing premij-ed these general principles, 
we proceed to apply them to two periods 
of English literature, those of Queen 
Elizabeth and Arm. In considering 
these periods it is notour desire nor in 
terest to lean partially to either. A 
judicious writer has remarked, that we 
are very uncorrupt, and tolerably en- 
lightened judges of the transactions of 
past ages ; where no passions deceive, 
and where the whole train of circum- 

stances, from the trifling cause to the 
tragical event, is set in an orderly se- 
ries before us. We give honor, then to 
whom honor is due, and give the devil 
himself his desert. We referred to the 
fluctuations of literature as seen from a 
general history of the world. In trac- 
ing its progress through one kingdom 
or government we can readily perceive 
that they are not so great. Here we 
see the progressive theory more dearly 
verified : and further, the progress of 
the English nation sets it beyond a 
d >ubt. In the intervening period there 
seems to be a little falling off, owing to 
political disturbances; but the effect on 
the progress of literature is scarcely de- 
serving of notice. Weighter causes 
are necessary for this, such as the de- 
cline or overthrow of a country. The 
Augustan age of Rome was the golden 
era of letters ; an age when she might 
be said to be in the zenith of her glory. 
What constitutes literary excellence ? 
Is another consideration essential to our 
present inquiry. Is it proportional to 
the number of writers or thinkers pro- 
duced in any period ? There are no less 
than fifty- four poets, thirty-eight dra- 
matic writers, fifty -seven prose writers, 
whose names have come down to us 
from the period of Elizabeth ; while 
that of Queen Anne only furnishes 
fourteen poets, six dramatists, four es- 
sayists, eight miscellaneous writers, two 
metaphysicians; historians, critics, theo- 
logians, to the number of fourteen ; 
making an aggregate for the former of 
one hundred and forty-nine, for the lat- 
ter, forty-eight. We should also take 
into account that the former period is 
nearly three times as long as the latter, 
and therefore, comparatively speaking 



does not exceed it much in the number 
of writers. But we are farfrom granting 
this, and, we think with good reason. 
A profusion of what is called literature 
does not imply a higher grade. The 
Chinese have a vast number of books, 
and yet, no one will say, that their lit 
erature is superior to ours. We have 
more newspapers, perhaps, than any 
country in the world, and yet England 
is a grade higher in literary excellence 
in that department. The age of Eliza- 
beth is aptly described by Spencer one 
of its poets. " A rich strand, where treas- 
ures of all kinds lay scattered in inex- 
haustible confusion, but unregarded. — 
Rich as the oozy bottom of the deep in 
sunken wrack and sumless treasures." 
Another author compares it to a vast 
garden, in which every s; ecies of vege- 
tation sprung up and grew in rank lux- 
uriance ; and Dr. Johnson said of these 
writers generally, that "they were 
sought after 1 because they were scarce, 
and would not have been scarce had 
they been much esteemed." A late lec- 
turer condemns this decision ; but we 
think it just in reference to that period. 
On the other hand, we find the litera- 
ture of Anne's time, more polished and 
systematic. The greater number of the 
authors of that period is read at the 
present day with delight. Who is not 
acquainted with the writings of Addi- 
son, Swift, Pope, Steele, Atterbury, &c. 
It was such men as these that raised 
literature to a standard, which it might 
be proud to maintain, even in our own 
day. Purged it from the dross which 
before had almost concealed its beauties, 
set it forth in simple splendor to the 
gaze of an enraptured age. But one 
will say, your decision in favor of the 
latter period is owing to ignorance of 

the former, •' you are shy of looking 
into its writings." We confess the last 
charge, owing to a very natural and 
(we thin ) just propensity, which leads 
us to take what affords us delight, and 
instruction. What perveited taste 
would [.refer Spencer to Pope, or any 
prose wiiter of the preceding time to 
Add-on. We follow the judgment of 
an i- lightened public, and they seem to 
be unanimous on this point. 

But says another, subtract all that is 
useless from the literature of the former 
period, and you will have more that is 
excellent then than the subsequent one 
affords. Any one can readily see the 
unreasonableness of such a demand. — 
Let them consider that we are compar- 
ing periods not as to what they might 
be, but what in reality they were. We 
cannot change the past, we cannot ele- 
vate the literature thereof. We cannot 
beautify that mighty garden. If we 
could it would be doing injustice to the 
one in comparison. 

In order to show that we are not 
alone in the very first position assumed 
we make the following extract from an 
author of w«)l known merit, one who has 
made history the study of his .life, and 
deduced large and philosophical views 
from it. " Literature, (says he,) like 
society, advances ste;> by step. Every 
treatise and book of value contains some 
particular part that is of more value 
than the rest. Something by which it 
has added to the general stock of hu- 
man knowledge or entertainment. — 
Something on account of which it was 
more particularly read and admired 
while a new book, and on account of 
which it continues to be read and admir- 
ed Avhile an old one. Nov it is these dif- 
ferent portions of every different vol- 



ume, that united fo. ra the effective lite- 
rature or knowledge of every civilized 
nation, and, when collected from the 
different languages of Europe, the liter- 
ature and knowledge of the most civi- 
lized portion of mankind. It is by 
these parts of more peculiar and origi- 
nal merit that tbese volumes are known. 
It is these to which every man of 
matured talents and finished education 
alone adverts. It is these which he 
endeavors chiefly to remember. It is 
these that make up the treasures, and 
constitute the capital, as it were of his 
mind. The remainder of each volume 
is but that subordinate portion which 
has no value but as connected with the 
other, and is often made up of those 
errors and imperfections, which are, in 
fact the inseparable attendants of every 
human production, which are observed 
and avoided by every writer or reasocer 
who follows, and which gradually be- 
come in one age only the exploded 
characteristics of another. It is thus 
that human knowledge becomes pro- 
gressive, and that the general intelli- 
gence of society gains a new station in 
advance from the reiterated impulses 
of each succeeding mind." It is not 
our present purpose to discuss the mer. 
its of any of the writers of those periods. 
This we decline from a want of ability, 
and time. It would require a lifetime 
to do it. Nor shall we define the politi- 
cal and social causes which operated in 
each. Suffice it to say on this point 
that the period of Queen Ann was as 
favorable to the advancement of litera- 
ture as that of Elizabeth. The history 
of the English nation on the whole 
clearly shows they are progressive. The 
presumption then is in favor of the lat- 
Vol. IV— 2. 

ter period, and it is strengthened by 
public opinion, which styles it the Au- 
gustan era of literature. 

We are apt to be dazzled by the ar- 
ray of names that the age of Queen 
Elizabeth marshals before us. While 
reading and contemplating the master 
minds of that age we forget to make 
any comparison at all. The names of 
Bacon and Shakspeare have become 
identified in our minds with excellence 
unsurpassable. The learned and un- 
learned, the wise, and the fools, all bow 
to these great names. I have never 
heard that the age in which Homer 
lived was a very literary one, and yet 
its claim to be such on Homer's merit 
is just as valid as that of the one we are 
now considering. There must be some- 
thing else besides a few great names to 
constitute an age a literary one. There 
must be something besides a confused; 
mass of writing. An author partial to 
that period dolefully remarks: Their 
works and their names "poor, poor 
dumb names," are all that remain of 
such men as Webster, Decker, Marston,. 
Marlowe, Chapman, Heywood, Middle- 
ton, and Rowley ! " How loved, how 
honour'd once avails them not!" — 
Though they were the friends and fellow 
labourers of Shakspeare, sharing hi* 
fame and fortunes, the rivals of Jonson, 
and the masters of Beaumont and 
Fletcher's well sung woes ! They went 
out one by one unnoticed like evening 
lights. And why we ask? We think 
Dr. Johnson, whom the same author 
condemns, answers satisfactorily. Th» 
subsequent ages had a better literature 
to delight them. Their more elevated 
taste could not relish the coarse food of 
the past. 



Thus have we endeavored to show, 
from various causes that the literature 
ef the English nation is progressive. — 
That one or two great names does not 
imply a higher grade. That, moreover, 
it is not to be found in the written 
quantity. A few general principles cor- 
rect in themselves, and true inferences 
from these must be our guide. To com- 
pare separately authors, and decide on 
their merits would lead us to an almost 

endless task. We are proud to give 
each period great credit, we love to re- 
flect on them as shining eras in English 
literature. The first not so bright, in- 
deed, but still affording a striking con- 
trast to the darkness which preceeded 

It is such periods as these that shed 
a lustre on our own. Let us imitate 
their virtues and shun their faults. 


The country lying along the foot of 
the Alps, on the Italian side is, from its 
situation, called Peidmont. It has for 
its capital the beautiful city of Turin. 
South west of this city, about thirty 
miles, there is a small territory, almost 
enclosed by mountains, some eighteen 
miles long, by fourteen broad. Cooped 
up in this secluded retreat, the Walden- 
ses live, an ancient and peculiar people. 
I delight to dwell upon their memory, to 
think of their piety, which is sincere, 
their love of liberty, which is ardent, 
and their spirit of endurance, which is 
indomitable. Their past history and 
present condition is a subject of deep 
interest to all ; but especially are they 
objects of regard to all protestants, in 
that they have maintained a faithful 
and a suffering testimony against the 
errors and tyranny of Rome, from the 
time of Claudius, bishop of Turin, in 
the beginning of the ninth century. 

Some say that the history of these 
churches is to be traced back to the 
second and third centuries, when the 
primitive Italian christians, took refuge 
in these mountains to avert the persecu- 
tions of the Roman emperors. 

Be this as it may, Claudius has by 
some m°ans received the appellation of 
"Father of Waldenses." He certainly 
was a preacher of the pure doctrines of 
the gospel, and aided materially, if he 
did not found these churches, whose 
light shone on through a long and 
gloomy night. 

From this date till the time of Wal- 
do, in 1160, none appear to have been 
able to record events, and so this period 
is involved in much obscurity. We 
know this clearly, that these churches 
existed as a class separate and distinct 
from the doctrine of the Catholics. 

Peter Waldo, a rich merchant of 
Lyons, gave a new impetus to this sect 



of Christians, by his labors and uncom- 
mon zeal. In his youth, while Qu'yy 
ing the festivities of a social party, one 
of his companions fell suddenly dead 
at his side. This circumstance changed 
the bent of his mind, and he now la- 
bored with new hopes— with new aims. 
After a long and suffering ministry of 
twenty years, he ended his life in Bohe- 
naia. No historian has ever done jus- 
tice to his piety, his labors or his en- 
dowments. He was an extraordinary 
man, one eminently of whom "this 
world was not worthy." But he was 
wise, and turned many to righteousness, 
therefore, he shall "shiue as the bright- 
ness of the firmament, and as the stars 
forever and ever." Accordiug to the 
common opinion, the present name of 
these christians was derived directly 
from Waldo ; but it is quite probable 
that they had this name long before 
this period, for as inhabitants of the 
vallies, they were called Vallenses or 
Valdenses ; and by an easy and natu- 
ral change of the first letter, we have 
the name as it is known to us, Wal- 

From this time, these people increase 
with great rapidity, and spread them- 
selves into France, Germany, Poland 
and Flanders,' carrying with them the 
Bible transjated by Waldo. 

As they would not abandon their 
scriptural faith for the corrupted doc- 
trines of the Roman See, they became 
extremely obnoxious to the Pope, and 
he determined to adopt any and eve*y 
means that might prove effectual in 
suppressing this heresy. In order to 
accomplish this, the Pope, aided by St. 
Dominic, a man of an illustrious Span- 

disposition, issued anathemas against 
all heretics, and called upon all his peo- 
ple to aid in extirpating them. Officers 
were appointed to inquire into the num- 
ber and quality of those who did not 
bow in ready submission to the edicts 
of the papal See. Hence they were 
called inquisitors, and this gave birth 
to the formidable tribunal, called the 
Inquisition. This infernal mode of per- 
secution went into active operation in 
1204, Innocnt III being pope of Rome. 
The Waldneses were the first objects 
upon which this institution poured forth 
their cruelty. They supplied work for 
the Inquisition, and victims for the 
stake. The emmisaries of Rome pur- 
sued them from glen to glen, from hill, 
to hill. In the South of France espe- , 
dally was this persecution carried on 
with relentless fury, where, in a brief 
period, one million of the Albigenses, a 
branch of the Waldneses, fell victims to 
the savage fury of the Catholics. At 
this time, those who inhabited the val- 
lies of Piedmont enjoyed a portion of 
external peace, being protected by tha 
Dukes of Savoy, who were mild and 
tolerant, and who refused every solicita- 
tion of the Pope to 'orment this pious 
and industrious people. Hunted down 
by their enemies in every other place 
this unhappy sect turned thither for 
quiet, and soon all who had escaped 
the fires of St. Dominic, and the sword 
of Simon De Montfort, were embraced 
in these mountain retreats. But even 
here they enjoyed only a temporary 
home. In the year 1400, the Pied- 
montes suffered their first persecution. 
The Catholics turned upon them with 
fury. War followed war — battle fol- 

ish family, but of a fierce and bloody lowed battle — village after village was 



burned, till this fair but rugged heritage 
was converted into a howling wilderness, 
and the pious people made to bite the 
very dust. From first to last, we enu_ 
merate over thirty distinct wars which 
they endured, twelve of which were 
waged with the avowed purpose of ex- 
terminating them. 

One of the worst of these wars took 
place in 1655 ; on which occasion Crom- 
well, to his honor be it said, interferred 
in their behalf with much energy, and 
success. He seat Sir Samuel Marland 
to Turin, to remonstrate with the Duke 
for his inhuman barbarities. This high- 
minded envoy addressed the Duke in an 
eloquent and touching manner, from 
the conclusion of which speech, I make 
the following extract: "What need I 
mention more, though I could reckon 
up very many cruelties of the same 
kind, if I were not astonished at the 
very thought of them. If all the tyrants 
of all times and ages were alive again, 
they would be ashamed when they 
should find that they had contrived no- 
thing in comparison with these things 
that might be counted barbarous and 
inhuman. Angels are seized with hor- 
ror ! Men are amazed ! Heaven itself 
is astonished with the cries of dying 
men, and the very earth blushes, being 
discolored with the gore-blood of so 
many innocent persons." 

It was on this occasion that Milton, 
who was then acting as Cromwell's Se- 
cretary, wrote the following ode, which 
is every way worthy of its most excel- 
lent author : 

"Avenge, Lord! thy slaughtered saints^ 

whose bones 
Lie scattered on the Alpine mountain cold! 
Even them, who kept thy truth so pure of old, 
When all our fathers worshiped stocks and 


Forget not ! In thy book record their groans 
Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold 
Slain by the bloody Piedmontese, that rolled 
Mother and infant down the rocks! The moan» 
The vales redoubled to the hills, and they 
To heaven. Their martyrM blood and ashes 

O'er all the Italian fields, where still doth 

The triple tyrant ; that from these may grow 
A hundred iold, who, having learned thy way, 
Early may fly the Babylonian woe." 

Cromwell went further. He set apart 
a day for prayer, and ordered services 
to be held, and a collection made in every 
church for the benefit of these christian?. 
£38,000 was the result of this contri- 
bution, Cromwell himself making the 
liberal donation of £2,000, from his 
private purse. £16,000 of this was in- 
vested in the funds of the English gov- 
ernment, and the interest consecrated 
to the support of the Waldensean barbes 
or pastors. The course which the Pro- 
tector took in this affair will always be 
counted as one of the redeeming acts 
of his life, and it is a stigma upon the 
character of the worthless Charles, who 
withheld this fund, and lavished it upon 
his favorites and mistresses. It was re- 
stored in some of the succeeding reigns, 
and even now the British government, 
with commendable liberality, gives a 
pension of some £300 annually. 

la 1688, Louis XIV, aided by Victor 
Amadens, Duke of Savoy, attacked the 
inhabitants of the vallies, avowing that 
he would never stop till he had utterly 
exterminated them. And well nigh 
did he accomplish his aim. Fourteen 
thousand were seized and crammed in- 
to three prisons, when they soon all 
died. One simple, yet truthful anec- 
dote will serve to show something of 
the spirit with which this war, happily 
last, was carried on. 



A youth named Sampson, was carried 
to the top of a tower and promised his 
life if he would only salute a crucifix 
which was presented to him. The no- 
ble boy replied, that he had rather die 
than commit idolatry, and that he had 
rather his body were dashed in pieces 
on the earth than that his soul be cast 
into hell for denying Christ and his 
Truth. He was immediately cast head- 
long. The next day, the inquisitor 
passing by the tower, saw the unhappy 
youth still languishing in torment with 
nearly all his bones broken. This mon- 
ster kicked the boy on the head, say- 
ing " is the dog still alive." But why 
recount deeds which outrage human na- 
ture ; why give more acts of this sad- 
dest tragedy ever enacted ? " If hell 
had been emptied of all its inhabitants, 
and they were let loose upon the valleys 
of Piedmont, greater enormities could 
not have been expected or committed." 

From this persecution only three 
thousand survived. These were allow- 
ed to retire into Switzerland, where 
they met a most hearty reception. The 
inhabitants of Geneva, receivino- them 
into th ;ir houses, entertained them with 
all hospitality for the first winter. The 
next three years they spent in the Can- 
ton of Vaud ; but they were not entirely 
content. They looked with longing 
eyes to the rugged retreats from which 
they had been driven. At length the 
celebrated Henry Arnaud, who had 
been educated for a minister, undertook 
to lead these exiles back to their val- 
leys.- Being materially aided by Wil- 
liam and Mary, he was enabled to raise 
a force of about a thousand men. With 
this small defence, he was able to con- 
duct this people to their long lost homes. 

At the bridge of Salabertrau, he, by 
skill and bravery, defeated two thousand 
five hundred French, under the Marquis 
de Larry. Since that time they have 
never been called to endure the horrors 
of war, yet still they suffered injustice 
from the Sardinian Government. For 
instance, they could own no lands be- 
yond the limits assigned them ; their 
taxes were one-third greater than their 
neighbors; they could not practice eith- 
er law or medicine; for them to attempt 
to proselyte a Roman Catholic, death 
was the penalty ; no one of them could 
rise higher in the army fchan Sergeant, 
although forty of their young men were 
compelled to enter it yearly. Under 
all this injustice they were comparative- 
ly happy, and increased in number very 

In 1848, the Sardinian King chang- 
ed his policy towards this people. He 
granted them a constitution, took off 
their burdensome taxes, and gave them 
the privilege of living any where in his 
domains. They may now have print- 
ing presses, and schools, and promote 
education without restraint ; and at 
present, hardly a boy can be found a- 
mongthem whocannotgiveyou an intel- 
ligent account of the faith of his fathers. 

They have always been very poor, 
but industrious, temperate, and frugal. 
They raise some wheat, rye, potatoes, 
and turnips ; and the fruit of the chest- 
nut tree furnishes no inconsiderable 
item of food. Their cattle, sheep, and 
goats are driven high up the sides of 
iheir stupendous mountains, and kept 
there during three months of summer, 
on account of the pasturage, which is 
found amid the rocks. They have com- 
paratively little money, bartering at the 



fairs for such articles of foreign mer- 
chandise as tliey need. They are for 
the most part a healthy people, but are 
affected by the cuiin, a disease prevalent 
in all Alpine regions, and to which Juve- 
nal refers, — 'Quis tumidum gutter mi- 
ratur in Alpibus ' ? Some suppose this 
disease to be occasioned by drinking 

Their houses are of rock, small and 
uncomfortable. They dress plainly, and 
live in great simplicity, are pleasant in 
their intercourse with each other, and are 
ever polite and hospitable lo strangvrs. 

Thus, reafler, I have endeavored to 
set before you some points in the histo 
ry of a people whose sufferings have 
been too little appreciated. 1 have wish- 

ed to enlist your sympathies in behalf 
of those who h d the way in the cause 
of truth, and stood in the front ranks, 
while the iron-handed despotism of 
Rome sported with the lives and for- 
tunes of mankind. Cannot the Wal- 
denses, of all (■there,- exclaim in the 
tender and pathetic language of Vir- 
gil's hero, 

" Quis jam locus, 
Quae regio in terris, nostri non plena laboris?" 

May I not then ask you to reflect 
whether they are not worthy of sym- 
pathy? "Render unto Cresar the 
things that Caesar's." 



It is a popular opinion, and (I was 
about to add, therefore,) an erroneous 
one, that ancient orators owe their fame 
rather to the remoteness of their age 
than actual merit. It is true, that time 
has atendency to hallow eveiy thing, and 
that the mi-tiness of the past is conducive 
to exaggeration ; but to deny desert for 
these considerations, when there are in- 
contestible evidences of it, betrays as 
mui'h stupidity as irreverence. The ac- 
counts which we have of Rome and 
Greece, describe the manner of their 
eminent orators as having been such — 
that every intelligent and ingenious 

mind must admit their eminence to have 
been not undeserved. And then their 
triumphs- -such glorious triumphs! — 
tell adequately of the ponderous 
thought — the lightning glance — the 
go like action which acheiv'ed them. 
Those seven hundred years of Rome's 
existence, which pieceded the time in 
which Cicero flourished, had done much, 
very much, towards polishing a language 
originally sonorous andeneigetic. There 
being no newspapers, the art of print- 
ing having not been yet invented, ora- 
tory was of necessity practised. From 
the forum, the masses were addressed 



upon every matter that affected them : 
there every question was discussed.— 
Oratory rose to be an art and a science ; 
men, who were themselves no mean 
proficients in il, taught it; and every 
ambitious youth released from a slavery 
to his back and belly, studied it, as the 
only means by which he could hope to 
attain a distinguished postition. Fore- 
most among the youth, noted for indus- 
try and perseverance in the study of 
oratory was Cicero ; with the zeal of a 
devotee, he neglected nothing, and the 
most skilful and learned rhetoricians of 
Rome and Greece, directed and assisted 
him in his lab >rs — labors which never 
ceased till he had acquired an almost 
unrivalled felicity and facility in his art. 
Nordid they stop thne; they ended only 
with his life. Such training would make 
an orator, as far as training can make 
one, of the veriest clodpole who cumbers 
the earth. But Cicero was anything else 
than a clodpole; early in life his brilliant 
qualities had attracted attention ; and 
it requires too great a degree of skep- 
ticism to doubt that he would become, 
as far as the man was concerned, the ora- 
tor of his time. And were there not 
Suhjtcts and occasions for all his powers ? 
Unfortunately, for virtue, for patriotism, 
and for Rome, there were, and all the 
energies of his g ant intellect — all the 
sympathies of his soul, were elicited. If 
any intelligent and reflecting person 
were to read of that system of educa- 
tion, that industry, that perseverance, 
and of those times, and saw no mention 
of mighty eloquence, he would not, he 
could not think it was because there 
were no orators, but he would loarii allv 
and ju-tly conclude that time or vandal- 
ism had destroyed its record. Cicero 
wa3 a necessity. 

As would Demosthenes, so do his 
advocates scorn, that he should hold 
his position by other tenure than that 
of right. He earned it by toiling up 
the mountain side to gain a robust 
fiame; by grinding, as it were, with 
pebbles, the flaws and roughness from 
a naturally unpleasant voice ; in daily 
practice in cavernous solitudes, and 
where "loud surges lash the sounding 
shore " — in short, he earned it by a 
persevering assiduity as unexampled as 
his emineuce as an orator is unrivalled. 
The testimony to his greatness, given 
by historians, by friends and enemies, 
is familiar to every schoolboy. 

" There were giants in those days." 
Hermes! These are the days of small 
things, in oratory at least. Yet every 
one in America, — our part of it, — is an 
orator. From the "future Presidents" 
(every body, except the bachelor, has 
one, you know) to the old " sans eyes, 
sans teeth," sans everything but tongue, 
it is talk, talk, talk ; but by some means 
or other they all 

" chance to fall below, 

Demosthenes and Cicero." 

Why is it ? Is it because in these 
days of equal rights and equal p'ivi- 
I'ges," eloquence is divided among the 
many, so that all may be equally inelo- 
quent? or is it because somebody, (ac- 
cording to the fashion which now ob- 
tains,) somehow, has constructed iu or- 
atory, a ''platform upon which all can 
stand." The oratory of our country is 
well represented in Washington. Butthe 
cackling geese in the capitol, once saved 
Rome, and who knows — verily who 
does know ? 



Modern times have produced orators, 
not, indeed, equal to Demosthenes or 
Cicero, but nevertheless, soul stirring 
orators. The pulpit has had its Masil- 
lon, its Bascom ; England her Burke, 
her Sheridan, and her Brougham ; and 
America has produced a Henry, and a 
Webster. Yet, while everything else is 
seemingly progressing, it cannot be de- 
nied, that at present, there is a dearth 
of eloquence. Macauley and Broug- 
ham are passing away — Clay and the 
" God-like Daniel " are gone ; but 
where are those that are to fill their 
places ? Doubtless there are many who 
can write as good a speech as Demos- 
thenes could ; but it is not in that, all 
will agree, that the moderns have failed 
to rival the ancients. The fault is else- 
where. It is, and can only be in an al- 
most total negligence of that which 
constitutes the orator, while that which 
makes the mere writer or author is dil- 
igently studied. 

Demosthenes was right when he said 
that " action " was the first, second, and 
third requsite in oratory. A man may 
be learned and wise, yet he is not an or- 
ator; his speeches may abound in learn- 
ing and wisdom — they may be clear, 
witty, and sublime — still, still he is not 
an orator. " Action, aciion, action," is 
yet wanting — " action " from the thun- 
der-charged brow to the spurning, crush- 
ing, foot. Short of this, a man is but 
a reader, or a talker. It was a due 
conviction of the power and importance 
of gesticulation that urged Demosthe- 
nes and Cicero to attain excellence in it, 
and that excellence has invested their 
names with an immortality. It is vain 
to ascribe their superiority to anything 
else. They excelled in that wh;ch can- 

not be preserved on paper; in that 
which perished with its authors, and of 
which but a weak and defective remem- 
brance can exist. 

In those ancient times there were no 
steamships, railroads, or telegraphs — 
they were " slow " times in fact. Im- 
bued with a little common-sense, every 
youth who wished to become a general, 
a philosopher, or an orator, first inquir- 
ed what was to be done, and then did 
it. This "fast" age eschews all such 
"slow-coach" systems. The essentials 
of the orator's art require an earnest 
and a long-continued application, that is 
but little practiced, and much less liked; 
and by natural consequence there are 
but a few tolerable speakers. True, 
there are a few, and it were indeed a 
wonder if, in so great a nnmber of as- 
pirants, there were not. 

In England, " ac ion " has fallen into 
almost total disuse. The speakers in 
Parliament assume every diversity of 
undignified positions. There we see 
them with their hands deeply thrust 
into their pockets ; their' thumbs firm- 
ly hooked in the armholes of their 
waistcoats ; or with their arms crossed, 
a la Napoleon, upon the breast. And 
extremely ridiculous are the gestures 
into which their excitement sometimes 
betrays them. Lord Dudley Stuart 
expends his electricity in very energetic 
and telegraphic raps upon his table, 
while Piilmeiston keeps time, most ap- 
positely, by swaying his body to and 
fro, not unlike a pendulum. In Ameri- 
ca it is quite as bad, but in a different 
way — the dancing or limber-jack, seems 
to be the model most assiduously 
copied. The neglect of "action" in 
the former country, arises mostly, \ sus- 



pect, from a lack of persevering indus- 
try, and partly from the disgust created 
by awkward or affected gesticulation. 
But such neglect, by whatsoever caused, 
is most certainly unbecoming so great a 
people, and so enlightened an age ; as 
it is possible to avoid both the uncouth 
and the affected, if it be an Hercuk an 
task, the ends to be attained are cer- 
tainly worthy of an Herculean energy. 
It betrays puerility in them, if they 
suppose, that, by evading, they have sur- 
mounted the difficulty. 

Indolence has also greatly contribut- 
ed to the making of American oratory 
what it is; but in addition to this it has 
a disguised enemy in a plausible theory 
advocated by men of ability. It is con- 
tended that all proper and effective ac- 
tion is natural — i. e. instinctive, and 
that when a person i& speaking earnest- 
ly the proper actions will be naturally, 
i. e., instinctively made. Many things 
tend to made this theory plausible : mis 
taken analogies, accidental circum- 
stances, the ambiguity of the word na. 
tural, and the bad results of the stupid 
systems of oratory, and the still more 
stupid systems of teaching, followed in 
our schools. All proper and effective 
action is certainly natural in one sense 
of tke word, for the very reasons that it 
is proper and effective; but I deny that 
it is natural in the other sense — that is, 
instinctive, original. Man is not a crea- 
ture of instinct; he has a mind, an in- 
tellect, which guides him, which discov- 
ers what is proper and therefore natural. 
Nearly everything that man does, while 
it may be natural, still has to be learn- 
ed. God has certainly not left us only 
in oratory, the noblest of all human arts, 
to the guidance of instinct. He ha«, 
perhaps, so made us that we instinc- 

tively make some outward manifesta- 
tions of the different dispositions of 
our minds, but these manifestations, 
as we daily see in the pulpit and 
in the legislative hall, untrained, are 
more frequently ridiculous than other- 
wise. Certain things make us indig- 
nant, sorrowful, joyous, and the like ; 
yet the most poignant grief has been ex- 
pressed in such a manner, by those too 
who were not victims to the so much 
deprecated artificial systems, as to ex- 
cite visible merriment in the most de- 

Our eloquent Patrick Henry : 

" the forest-born Demosthenes, 

Whose thunder shook the Phillip of the seas," 

and id genus omne, have been exulting- 
ly pointed to as proofs of this theory. 
His manner may be, with more justice, 
called accidental ; but if he were indeed 
a " born orator," let us place him in the 
same category with that wonderful 
youth, who, by seeming intuition, could 
instantly give an answer to the most 
difficult sums with unerring accuracy ; 
and while we show Henry to our youth 
as an exemplar in oratory, let us also 
leave them to become naturally mathe- 

But '* all systems for teaching the 
art of oratory have signally failed 1" — ■ 
Mirabile Dktu ! And why have they 
faded? The reasons clearly are that 
the majority of them are ill-conceived 
and worthless, while those which do 
possess some merit have failed through 
the stupidity of the school-teacher, and 
the negiovnee of the scholar. But cer- 
tainly the ill-success of bad systems bad- 
ly taught, does not show that good ones 
well taught will meet with a similar 
fate. We know that ancient orators 



pursued some svstem succes^fu]ly; and 
are we less intelligent? If they devised 
good plans, are we incapable of doing 
it? We certainly will not confers it — 
we certainly ought not to be. 

Demosthenes and Cicero, both give 
empiiatic testimony to the importance 
of gesticulation; and, therefore, when I 
see a book, (Wbately's for instance,) 
preiending to teach the orator's a.t. yet 
giving no directions in regard togesture^ 
I think that its author has committed 
as great a fault as he who, in attempt- 
ing to give a history of the French em 
pire, should leave out Napoleon. Both 
might do very well as far as tliey went, 
but as (o obtaining' a correct idea of 
either subject, we might as well read 
Gullivers' Travels. But the difficulty 
is not altogether in the systems — it lies 
chiefly in the school-master and scholar. 
Go into our schools and you see the 
scholar taught to declaim a select 
speech with certain gestures, whiie he 
neither understands their meaning, nor 
why he makes use of rijfia ; or if he i> 
taught their meanirg, he is yet allowed 
to use them with disgusting affectation. 
All our speakers are from these causes, 
more or less unmeaning, or affected ges- 
tures : 

" As the twig is bent the tree's inclined." 

Were there no other refuge from such 
training we should, most assuredly, em- 
brace the natural theory. But there 
is p'enty sea-room between the rock, 
Scylla, and the whirl-pool, Cliaryhdis. 

In teaching our language to chldren, 
we learn them the meaning of the 
words, their just pronunciation, and 
their proper arrangement. If fully 
taught they say what they mean, and 

say it properly, without effort : there is 
no stopping to think for words — the 
t ought brings them unfailingly. Why 
not follow the same plan in gesticula- 
tion ? Teach the gestures thoroughly: 
so, that they maybe raede with a? much 
ease and skill as the practiced dancer 
can use his nether limbs — so, that their 
signification may be as familiar as that 
of words — and then the thought will 
bring its associated gesture as certainly, 
as it does its words. It is certainly a 
rational plan ; and it seems to me to be 
the only one that can succeed. This is 
followed in teaching every successfully 
taught department of education, every 
mechanical, or other art. The tyro 
must be taught the use of the tools, 
i. e., their meaning, and then practised 
until he can use them with the greatest 
dexterity and ease. Some system Lased 
upon this principle must be adopted in 
oratory, and indtfatigably pursued, or 
else ere long that noblest of arts will 
have become a myth — Demosthenes 
and Cicero will be regarded but as met- 
amorphoses of Parthenope, Lygea, and 

There is one thing, however, which 
must be carefully avoided in the use of 
gesture — it is affectation. Nothing soon- 
er disgusts; nor is there anything more 
quickly detected. It trifles with the feel- 
ings of an audience, presents itself to its 
possessor as a bar to all excellence, and 
is fitly rewarded by pity or contempt. 
It is best guarded against by never pre- 
meditating a gesture. A word or sen- 
tence may be premeditated without im-' 
prop.iety, but a premeditati d gesture 
is imviiably, essentially, the height of 

It is deplorable that it is our nature 


to neglect what is of greater consequence 
to us, and attend diligently to that 
which is of less or none. 

" What toil did honest Curio take, 
What strict inquiries did he make, 
To get one medal wanting yet, 
And perfect ail his Roman set !" 

It is analagous to the case of a man who 
is too lazy to attend to his own business, 
yet quite industrious enough to inter 
meddle wi-h that of others. Oratory 
is of too much importance to be thus 
neglecte 1, or ihns indolently pursued; 
he who wishes to become a great orator 
must make it the business of his lie - 
all his efforts must converge upon it, 
and these effor's must be characterized 
by "the indomitable energy of a Han- 
nibal." "No excellence without great 
labor," is of divine origin, and as one 
of nature's laws admits of no exceptions. 
Let us not be deceived by seeming ones 
- — for there are, and can be, none that 
are real. Patrick Henry was not a la- 
borious student, and all testimonies con- 
cur in representing him to have been 
lamentably deficient in the knowledge 
of languages, of history, of the sciences, 
and of law — his own profession. But 
he was an orator. Yes : and there are 
labors beside those which are seen in 
school and college. His long, so'itary 
rambles were made whilst he was secret- 

ly, perhaps silently laboring — that si- 
lent meditation, that secret labor, evolv- 
ed the future orator. Any other expla- 
nation could be easily shown, to my 
satisfaction, to be absurd — to be im- 
pugning the unchangeable character of 
the Deity. There are those, however, 
who believe in exceptions to this law — 
who fondly hope that they are except- 
ed. Those who wish to be great, if 
they will still to the belief, must 
at least discard the vain, deceptive hope. 
Believe it, there are no geniuses but 
i hose created by labor: too true, vain 
men will sometimes hideeveiy evidence 
of labor except the result — but the re- 
sult is only equal to the labor remote 
or immediate. If a youth would be a 
Demosthenes he must remember that 
Demosthenean industry only, is re paid 
with Demosthenean eloquence and fame. 
This article pretends not to originali- 
ty — everything in it is "as old as the 
hills." So very old are they, indeed — ■ 
so long is it since they were first pr> 
mulged, that all except the very few 
seem to have fergotten them. The 
world acts in reference to them as did 
honest Curio, the antiquary, to the Ro- 
man medal when found, 

" 'Tis iound ! and oh ! his lnppy lot ! 
'Tis bought, lock'd up, and lies forgot !" 




I have often heard it said, that to be 
tired of life is a sin ; "but there are times. 
I think, when the "weary, world- worn 
soul " may guiltlessly long for the qui- 
et of the grave. When a young and 
tender being, just stepping into life, has 
her sensitive heart-strings rudely struck 
by sorrow's hand ; when for some una- 
voidable misfortune, she sees herself be- 
reft of friends and pointed at as a thing 
of shame ; when, in a word, she finds 
life robbed of all that makes it dear, 
and the future, which once seemed so 
bright and beautiful, turned into dark- 
ness and gloom, then I think she may 
exclaim with the Prophet of old " it is 
better for me to die than to live." 

These reflections are suggested by 
the melancholy fate of one whose grave 
is sti.l fresh, and whom I never think 
of without deprecating that stein law 
of society, which, instead of inducing 
one to bind up the "bruised and bro- 
ken spirit" of a young and inexperi- 
enced female, who has fallen fom the 
high paths of virtue, casts her forth be- 
yond the pale of sympathy, and leaves 
her to drag out a miserable life in seclu- 
sion, or to go down to the lowest depths 
of degradation. Thus, those who are 
really innocent, frequently suffer equal- 
ly with the most abandoned. Such 
was the case with Laura Woodville. 

She was the only daughter of wealthy, 
intelligent parents, who lived among 

the mountains of one of our western 
States, and being a near neighbor, I 
knew her from childhood up. A friend- 
ship formed between us while at school 
together, grew firmer as we grew older, 
and we came to regard each other al- 
most as brother and sister. Her pa- 
rents bestowed upon her all the advan- 
tages which wealth could afford, and 
her highly cultivated mind and accom- 
plished manners, indicated that she had 
not permitted those advantages to pass 
unimproved. But above all, they had 
been careful to instill into her young 
mind tin pure principles of religion, 
which took deep root, imparted a soft- 
ness and kindness to her manners, which 
were sure to win the hearts of all who 
knew her. In the social circle, she was 
the gayest of the gay ; and her glad- 
some spirit, sparkling in the liquid 
depths of her dark eye*, and breaking 
forth in a joyous, ringing laugh, vould 
send a gleam of sunshine to the hearts 
of all around her, and make even the 
coldest misanthrope forget, for a time, 
his gloom, and acknowledge a feeling 
of kindness for his fellow creatures. — 
Added to the charms of her mind and 
manners, was a faultless beauty, which 
Raphael, in his happ : est moments of 
inspiration, never excelled. 

Thus grew Laura in theinnocency of 
vouth, when, to complete my education, 
I left our qukt village and came to the 



University. Two years and a half of 
my college course passed pleasantly 
away, and vacation again came to glad- 
den the hearts of wearied students. The 
gloom and desolation which reigned 
here after the departure of the students, 
and the desire for the enjoyments of 
home, which so long an absence had 
greatly heightened, determined me to 
revisit the scenes of my early youth. — 
After a short and pleasant journey, I 
arrived at my native village, just as 
night was closing in and hushing to si- 
lence the busy world. I was joyfully 
welcomed by " the loved ones of home," 
and soon filled my accustomed place in 
the family circle round the old parlor fiie. 
The pleasant associations which cluster- 
ed around the place, and the recollec- 
tions which it called to mind, I shall 
not stop to describe. Two years and a 
half, I knew, must have wrought many 
changes in the neighborhood, and of 
these I began to ask. Of Laura, the 
beautiful Laura Woodville, my old 
friend and schoolmate, I made the first 
enquiry ; but as her name was men- 
tioned, the voice of mir^h was hushed 
and the look of happiness, which before 
had brightened the countenances of all 
present, gave place to one of sadness. 

" Ah," remarked my father, " a sad, 
sad change has come over the spirit of 
her life since you saw her last. She is 
not the same lighthearted, happy Lau- 
ra you used to know, but a wretched, 
sorrowing creature whom it would be 
charity in death to release from the 
burdens of life. Keport says that dis- 
honor has stamped its seal upon her 
name, but I believe that she was ruined 
while under the influence of some foul 
potion, administered by a heartless vil- 
Uan. There are many in the neighbor- 

hood, however, who think otherwise ; 
and the knowledge of this so harrows 
her sensitive feelings that she is grad- 
ually wasting away and dying. But 
go to the court house to-morrow and 
you can learn all the circumstances far 
better than I can tell you ; for her fath-, 
er has prosecuted the villian who per- 
petrated the wrong, and the triaPtakes 
place to-morrow." 

Had a thunderbolt from a cloudless 
sky fallen upon me, I could not have 
been more astonished than at this start- 
ling intelligence. I waited impatiently 
until morning came, and at an early 
hour repaired to the Court-house. The 
case had excited an unusual interest 
throughout the whole neighborhood, 
and multitudes came thronging in from 
all directions and filled the room to 
overflowing. The hour of trial finally 
rolled around, and Laura attended by 
her sorrowing parents walked up the 
aisle to the bar of justice. What a 
change there was from the merry, joy- 
ous girl of former days ! Her once 
full, round form, had wasted away ; her 
nimble, elastic step had become slow 
and languid; her health blooming 
cheeks were pale and emaciated ; and 
her once rich, luxuriant hair had 
through giief become intermingled 
with grey. A silence so deathlike reign- 
ed throughout that dense multitude 
that their suppressed breathings were 
distinctly audible. Laura was asked to 
recite the story of her wrongs, and she 
did it with a voice so sweet and so sad, 
in a manner so artless and so winning, 
that many a stern heart was moved to 
tears. I shall not attempt to relate the 
story in her language, but will only give 
the circumstances. 



She was on a visit to her grand fath- 
er in a remote part of the county; and 
while there, an aunt of hers, who lived 
in the neighborhood was taken sick. — 
Laura walked over one evening to see 
her, and as it began to grow late rose 
to go ; but the family insisted so hard 
upon her remaining until morning, that 
she fii01y consented. She sat up until 
quite a late hour ; and just before retir- 
ing her aunt's husband brought her a 
glass of toddy and insisted upon her 
tasting it. " No," said she, " I never 
taste spirituous liquors of any kind." 

"But," insisted her uncle, "you have 
been sitting up late and it will do you 
good ; besides I have made it very 
■weak." The unsuspecting girl took 
the goble^, and drank a few swallows. 
Alas ! for her ! the toddy, besides being 
very strong, was drugged. It immedi- 
ately flew into her head, she felt giddy, 
and a strange, indefinable sensation 
spead over her. A few moments after 
she tripped away to her chamber, gay- 
ly remarking to her uncle, "you have 
made me tight." A tew more hours 
passed aw r ay, and the fiend incarnate, 
who had plotted her ruin, accomplish- 
ed his damnable designs. The golden 
light of memory streamed in at her win- 
dow and feathered choristers merrily ca- 
rolled amid the surrounding groves ; but 
they brought no joy to the heart of 
Laura. The effects of the potion had 
worn away, and she woke to a con- 
sciousness of her ruin. Life was no 
longer dear to her. The future seemed 
but a gloomy night; for though she 
knew that no guilt attached to her, she 
knew also that this is a cold and selfish 
world, and that without direct evidence, 
many would look upon her as one of 
those frail creatures, who, foo weak to 

withstand temptation, had been enticed 
into sin. With this thought preying 
upon her mind, for -a long time she 
paced the room in agony, praying that 
the grave might open and receive her. 
Such is an outline of her touching 

The counsel of her destroyer made 
an able and ingenious de'enee ; but he 
was to his opponent as a child in the 
hands of a giant. Mr. Woodville had 
employed one of the ablest advocates 
in the whole west ; and I never heard 
such a torrent of eloquence roll from 
the lips of man, as did from his on that 
occasion. He seemed to exercise some 
mesmeric influence over the minds of 
the jury, so perfectly did they appear 
to think as he thought, to feel as he 
felt. The pleading finally ended. The 
jury retired to consult, but were gone 
only a few moments before they return- 
ed, with a verdict in favor of Laura, by 
which she would receive ten thousand 
dollars from her seducer. A sad, sweet 
smile played around her lips as she 
heard the issue, not that she cared for 
the filthy lucre, but her heart was glad- 
dened by the thought that there were 
some, at least, who believed her inno- 
cent, and were willing to do her justice. 
She went home, but all hopes of earth- 
ly happiness had left her forever. The 
kind attentions of tender parents, sof- 
tened as much as possible, the pangs of 
grief; but they could not heal the fes- 
tering wound implanted in her bosom. 
She lingered on in hopeless misery, 
gradually growing thinner and more 
weak, until at last her feeble limbs're- 
fused to support her frame. She knew 
that she was dying, but death had no 
terrors for her. She longed for her 



soul to be released from its earthly ten- 
ement, that it might soar away to 
realms of eternal beauty, and rejoice 
around the throne of its maker. 

Spring came, and strewed the Lip of 
earth with flowers ; the little birds, woo- 
ed forth by the genial season, trilled their 
gentle lays in the surrounding groves ; 
and the great heart of nature throb 
bed with joy at the coming of the sea 
son of beauty. One evening Laura call- 
ed her mother to her bedside. " Moth- 
er," said she, " I feel that the tide of life 
is ebbing away, but before I go, I want 
you to promise me that not a farthing 
of my seducer's shall be touched. To 
take it, mother, would be vengeance, 
and there is one who bath said, '• ven- 
geance is mine." Besides, he has a 
wife and children dependant npon his 
care, it would be cruel to deprive them 
of it. If there is one spark of human- 
ity within his bosom, the consciousness 
that he is my murderer will be punish- 
ment enough on this side the grave ; 
and tell him that with my latest breath 
I forgave him, and prayed for him. — 
Wilt you promise, as I ask, mother ?" 

" I promise." 

"Weep not mother," continued Lau- 
ra, b because I am so soon to leave 
you, for surely you would not lengthen 
my stormy pilgrimage through this 
dark and dreary world. Rejoice with 
me that my weary soul will, at last be 
at rest, in the peaceful grave, and re- 

memb >r that there is a bright and hap- 
py land beyond the blue skies, where 
the pure in htart shall meet again. — 
Place me in the old arm chair by the 
window, mother, and let me look once 
m >re upon my little flower garden, and 
the green lawn beyond where I have 
passed so many happy hours." 

A sweet smile irradiated her sickly 
countenauce as she sat there listening 
to the music of the singing birds, and 
looking down upon the garden where 
bloomed the beautiful flowers which she 
had planted, and which, as she gazed 
upon them, seemed to smile a friendly 
greeting, and to send up an offering of 
fragrance from their nectared bosoms to 
regale her wearied senses. While seat- 
ed thus the lung courted 

" Death came and pressed her wearied lids 
And brought the sick heart rest/' 

She died so calmly and gently that 
the attendants did not perceive the 
change. Her soul seemed wooed forth 
from its earthly tenement by the myri- 
ad beauties around her, and winged its 
flight to a home not made by mortal 
hands, " where the wicked cease from 
troubling and the weary are at rest." — 
The next day, what remained of Laura 
Woodville, was buried in the vil.age 
grave-yard, and a neat tombstone erect- 
ed on the spot, MINDER. 




" Thy first look was a fever spell, 

Thy first word was an oracle, 

That sealed my late." 

Gentle reader — fear not any resem- 
blance or analogy between our motto and 
what you may find under it. Conceive 
them as ideas that float on the ocean of 
reverie, and in their wandering course 
present themselves to the imagination, 
causing some feeling you would in vain 
endeavor to know. Undoubtedly you 
expect a description of a mental fever, 
caused forsooth, by a look, or you would 
list to hear a voice from the inner 
shrine, whose very sweetness sealed a 
mortal's fate. We are not of those 
who delight in parading themselves be- 
fore the gaze of humanity, in a style 
not only foreign, but ill adapted to our 
situation here. We would unfold an 
influence, which one who knows it not, 
hath shed on our heart. 

What mysterious affinities pervade 
the material and spiritual worlds ; and 
how beneficently are they ordained to 
increase our happiness. They come — 
unseen messengers 'of good, when the 
ills of life seem about to overwhelm us, 
rejoicing the saddened heart, and shield- 
ing the unconscious sender from the 

effects of the evil part of our nature. — 
Is it theu true that r 

" Many a flow'r is born to blush unseen, 
And waste its sweetness on the desert air." 

Far be thy sweet influences from 
such a fate, inspirer of these feeble, but 
heart felt sentiments. Should a cruel 
and heartless world reject them, they 
will find a thrice welcome reception in 
my heart, and inspire noble thoughts, 
the preludes to noble deeds. With thy 
image before me and thy gentle words 
still ringing in my ears I pen these 

The village of contains the no- 
blest, the purest, the gentlest of her sex. 
I pass by her childhood ; for I was then 
far away, dreaming of sunny climes and 
happy children ; and even now when I 
recur to the day dreams of youthful 
fancy, I see her, individualized, the 
brightest, the loveliest in the train. — 
Culd worldlings, despise not the intense, 
fairy imaginings of youth ; they some- 
times return to melt even your hard 
hearts, and restore those redeeming 
qualities that shield from the appro- 
brium of unfeeling natures. In the 



depths of degradation, in the awful mo- 
ments of retribution they come, bright 
heralds of the past, to win you back to 
childhood once more, to give you a 
short respite from self inflicted ills. 

Reader — have you ever considered 
whether there be any resemblance be- 
tween the imaginings andean ticipations 
of youth, and the realities of the after 
scene, wh -tiler your course through lifv 
be in some degree shape J by influences 
from early years; whether you pursue 
phantoms,once the objects of «hildhood'.> 
faith and hope. Be that as it may, the 
reality which I have found was long ere 
now idealized, and towards it as a bea- 
con star, my course has been directed. 

There is a higher and holier ideal 
than physical beauty. This alone can 
never satisfy a soul yearning for the 
manifestations of the spiritual. I see 
nothing therein but a cold and the more 
I abstract, it seems to gaze on me, — 
"with calm — eternal eyes." Surely the 
artist mu<t contemplate beauty else- 
where, if he would find the charm that 
wins the heart. " Truth and beauty are 
one" — says a celebrated author, and 
we may resolve them farther into good- 
ness. Then again these three are unity 
and perfect, and they are lost in the 
infinite. But I have wandered where 
the vulgar and coarse natured cannot 
follow. They are satisfied with the 
gross and sensual, and hence as some 
one has beautifully expressed it. "Beau- 
ty and virtue walk hand in hand the 
downward road to death. 

I have often wondered why a beino- 
gifted with intellect of a high order, 
imagination vivid, chaste and beautiful, 
powers of communicating the rich trea- 
sures of the soul equal to their value, 
Vol. IV.— 3 

could attract so few. She walks the 
earth like a stranger from a brighter 
clime, and a wis the herd to a distance. 
Oh ! if the grovelling natures of earth 
knew how little such sou's as hers are 
affected by their neglect, they would be 
apt to enquire — ''in wonder lost," where 
the secret of her happiness lay. Strang- 
ers in the world of beauty and true en- 
joyment, it is not to be found on the 
lace or in the form of a modern beau 
or belle ; nor yet more in their served 
up"bon mots" or acquired airs; 'tis 
not found in halls of g lyety and plea- 
sure, falsely so called. Ah ! can you 
believe that in her soul cheering society 
I can treat them all with indifference, 
pity, almost contempt, llad I a thou- 
sand lives to enjoy there, and you, de- 
luded devotee of pleasure as many in 
your giddy whirls, I would not exchange 
a single day nor night with you : 

"A thing of beauty is a joy forever." 

To meet with such a being on the 
journey to an unknown land, is like 
coming to the "isles of the blest" in a 
stormy sea and landing there for a sea- 
son to drown in happy forgetfulness ; or 
like the scenes in eastern allegory where 
angels and good spirits were said to 
meet with men and point out the way 
to happiness. " Here, in this lovely 
little haven, among weeds and palms,'* 
I would draw up my pinnace forever. 

Who does not love the author of the 
Opium Eater for the candor with 
which he acknowledges favours receiv- 
ed from an outcast in the hour of ad 
versity. How pathetically he dwells 
on these angel traits of her character. — 
How sincerely he mourns her loss, in 
his despair apostrophizing the very 


streets which swallowed up the unfor- 
tunate forever. 

What then mu*:t be his feelings up- 
on whom in the hours of solitude the 
noblest of her sex smiled and bestowed 
her favors. Surely such conduct, and 
from such a source would melt a heart 
of stone, and awaken humanity even in 
ft Nero's breast. 

Reader, I shall weary you no longer. 
Perhaps you have felt the same sweet 
influences ; perhaps some gentle being 
hath sown the seeds of nob'e resolve in 
your heart. Cherish them and bless 
the giver, as I now do. Let her be a 
star in thy diadeni of earthly glory, and 
a guide to immortal happiness. 




Lightly lie the golden tresses on Min- 
na's brow, and softly now swim her blue 
eyes in their liquid heaven. Her rich 
red lips are but parted enough to show 
fchetiny pearls beneath them. Deep lie 
the roses on her cheek, but all is not 
well there, for the rose of her cheek is 
a hectic flush and the little white brow 
ia hot with fever. 

Be still Minna. Though the golden 
sun's rays play merrily on the lattice, 
and the morning breezes steal to kiss the 
dew-drops from the flowers. Though 
the little birds sing cheerily and all is 
bright, yet be still for thou art going 
to a fairer land. Thy little soul has 
already spread its tiny wings and ere 
the evening sun shall tinge the West 
with gold, it shall be nestled close to 
Him who has said "Suffer little children 

to come unto me and forbid them not 
for of such is the kingdom of heaven." 

Soon a crown of life will rest upon 
thy little brow. Sweet as the flowers, 
and pure as thy own fair self, and blight 
as dew drops will its gems glisten, for 
its gems are life eternal. 

Be still Minna, for soon thy fever 
will cease, thy life will soon be done. — 
The golden bowl that holds thy tiny 
spirit will be broken, and life's silver 
cord will be softly loosened, and thine 
eyes closed forever. 

O ! death, lay thy white cold fingers 
gently on that little brow, and let thy 
dark shadow fall lightly on her. She 
needs no heavy stroke, for she is like 
the bubble on the stream of life, bright- 
ened by the sun of righteousness as it 
flows from the " Great white throne" 



but broke by the gentlest Zepher from 
an angel's wing. 

The finger has fallen softly on that 
little brow, and* it is white and cold. — 
The golden tresses lie there yet, and the 
breeze as it murmers by, touches them 
softly as it passes, fearful of waking that 
holy slumber. Closed is the little blue 
eye forever and the lips are still but a 
smile is dimpled on her cheek as if the 
angels whispered sweetly to her when 
they stole her soul away. 

Faiewell Minna. Soon the grass 
will spring green and fresh above thy 
little grave. Soon the flowers will 

doop their sweet heads and shed their 
fragrance over thee. And the sunlight 
will fall brightly on the earth that 
hides thee, and the birds too shall still 
their wings and chant a requiem over 
thee softly and slowly, but thou wilt 
hear it not for, deep, dark and silent is 
thy tomb. 

Minna has gone and the tears that 
fall, fall not because she has gone but 
because we are left and the sigh that 
gushes from the depth of the heart is 
mingled with as much of sadness, that 
we are here as of sorrow for the little 
freed soul that has gone to heaven. 

[selected from wood notes.] 


Tons.—" Oh, carry me back to Old Virginia's 

Oh, carry me back, oh, carry me back, 

Unto those early years, 
When life was all a happy dream, 

And kindness dried my tears: 
No sadness then came o'er my soul, 

But every thing was gay, — 
Oh, carry me back, oh, carry me back, 

To some bright early day. 

Oh, carry mo back, oh, carry me back, 

To that sweet dream of youth, 
When earth was all a sunny spot, 

And every heart was truth ; 
For clouds and darkness gather now. 

And sighs and tears are rife, — 
Oh, carry me back, oh, carry me back, 

To the bright morn of life. 




It has so happened, in the history of our 
Magazine, that each corps has had two 
op port unities for congratulating with then- 
patrons on the success of the past, and ex- 
pressing hopes for the future. Our 
Salutatory brought us before the public 
in that attitude, and the beginning of our 
fourth vol. offers us the same privile ;e. 

Surely, enough has been already said 
as to the objects of this Magazine : that 
it was and is intended to be an exponent 
of College thought especially, an escutch- 
eon of North Carolina literature particu- 
larly, and, the encouragement of compe- 
tent judges has led us even to hope, that 
we are to be no inconsiderable drop in 
the bucket of American Journalism. 

Of course it is expected of the illiberal 
critic who tolerates only whatever bears 
the imprimatur of some New York pub- 
lisher and which is heralded forth, often 
falsely, as the production of some eminent 
Author, that he should regard us as whol- 
ly unable to cope with the popular peri- 
odicals of the day, and our aspirations to 
that position which are intended to be 
modestly expressed for the purpose of 
touching a cord of sympathy for our suc- 
cess, are by him perverted into braken 
boastings of our individual abilities. 

Now this does really seem to be a fact 
easily understood, which our predecessors 
have heretofore attempted to impress up- 
on the minds of all, and which we here 
again repeat, that we are only instruments 
■through which this Magazine is publish- 
ed ; and, while we are responsible for any 
article which may appear in its pages, we 
have not, nor will we ever pretend to 
claim the honor which the excellence of 

many of its articles has brought upon 

Its true, we have exerted ourselves in 
building it up. We feel the responsibili- 
ty of representatives ; and, that too, of a 
constituency sometimes more exacting, 
we have feared, than co-operative, but we 
shall not falter in the discharge of our du- 
ties and shall continue to solicit fiv/in the 
Alumni, as well as from the present mem- 
bers of the University, not only a hearty 
concurrence but an active pulling to- 
gether for the interest of our Magazine. 

As we have before intimated, compe- 
tent judges have not hesitated to recom- 
mend us to the patronage of all ; and, 
since we have come into the field to run a 
tilt for the "Mag." some of North Carolina's 
best writers have not only wished that 
ours might be the Golden Lance of the 
poet which should overthrow all opposi- 
tion, but have manifested sufficient inter- 
est in making this the accoucheur to usher 
into day the conceptions of North Caro- 
lina's sons, as to send us their own and to 
promise them for the future. 

And believe us, this is the proper man- 
ner, after all, of building up the Southern 
press to that hieght of excellence to 
which we have long aspired, and which 
some Northern publications have nearer 
attained than ourselves. Individuals of 
the mightiest literary influence may issue 
their anathemas against Northern publica- 
tions, because forsooth, they contain arti- 
cles in every number, directly opposed to 
the interest of the Southern man, but that 
influence can never avail, to any considera- 
ble extent, as long as the literary merit of 



these publiciiions so far exceeds tliac of 
our own clime. 

Talent, however perverted, will find its 
votaries, and, if we, the Southern people, 
would sustain ourselves, it must be done 
by the exercise of this talent, and that 
too, through our own Southern press. It 
will never do to patronise any Yankee 
who sets up his claims upon the Southern 
community, because he has been so bold 
as to declare himself a Northern man with 
Southern principles. We may venture 
the assertion, that nine out of ten of such 
characters are smothering within their bo- 
soms those sentiments wiich'have been 
taught them in their youth, and which 
are so inimicable to our interest. As soon 
as they begin to grow fat upon Southern 
patronage, they begin to assume their in- 
dependence, and are soon found asserting 
their true sentiments, and catering to the 
taste of old associates. 

None arc more loath to appeal to the 
local prejudices of a community for any 
purpose than we are, and, in fact, we do 
not wish to do so now. We can say 
nought against any man for favoring that 
magazine which best satisfies his literary 
cravings, provided, his taste be not vitia- 
ted by the idea that what is done north is 
superior, and the southern journal is judg- 
ed of accotding to its intrinsic worth. 

All we wish to say is that North Caro- 
lina, as well as other Southern States, can 
boast of as much ability as any Northern 
State; and, on all occasions in which her 
interest was clearly shown to require it, 
she has evinced the intellectual power of 
srhich we are proud, and which we would 
lave show itself through our North Caro- 
ina Magazine. 

Every body concedes that Old Rip is 
vaking up ; and, in fact, an artist has im- 
nortalized his waking on canvass. It can- 
lot be that he is stirring thus in other de- 
•artmeiits, while the literature of the State 
j dormant. 

We conclude, therefore, that we are 
progressing, though slowly, yet, surely, 
in literary pursuits, and that our little ba- 
rometer will show the rise accordingly. — 
In a word, we believe the patronage of 
the University Magazine will continue to 
increase ; that our contributors will contin- 
ue to favor us, and many be constrained to 
assist in a work as truly their own as that 
North Carolina is their native State. 

And we shall finally express the hope, 
with bright prospects ahead, that if, after 
having "toiled all night and taken noth- 
ing," we cast our net on the right side of 
the ship, it will not come in empty. 

Longevity — Natural and Official. 
— Our readers will recollect some very 
remarkable instances of long life, and long 
and faithful discharge of duties, in places 
of public trust, in the State and the Uni- 
versity, recorded in our last Editorial Ta- 
ble. The Report of Governor Manly, 
Treasurer of the Trustees, 10 the Board, 
at the last annual meeting, supplies us 
with another example which we take plea- 
sure in presenting and preserving as an 
interesting incident in our history. The 
Governor is himself, however appearances 
may indica e the contrary, no novice in 
his position. He was appointed Treasur- 
er as the successor of the late Gen. Robert 
Williams in 1821, nearly 34 years ago. 


From the Report of the Treasurer of the 
Board of Trustees of the University, at their 
late annual meeting. 

" The Treasurer would here repeat a state- 
ment made to the last annual meeting of the 
Board, for the information of new members, 
and of such as have not turned their attention 
to the subject, that the account Books, of this 
Treasury Depaitment commence in the year 
1789, and were opened by Walter Alves, of 
Orange county, a former Treasurer of the Board, 
and an accomplished Book-keeper. 

The same Journal and Leger have been kept 
to the present day ; and for the last 44 years all 
the entries in these Books, are the exclusive 



work of Daniel DuPie, a Clerk in the Bank of 
the State. 

Gen Robert Williams, the successor of Mr. 
Alves, employed Mr. Dui're for this service in 
tho year 1809, and he has been retained as Book- 
keeper, by the present incumbent, since he 
came into the office, v» ithout cost to the Trus- 

In these Books a separate account is opened, 
with each branch of Revenue and general head 
of expense ; and also with each individual debt- 
or; wherein is distinctly charged the debt of 
whatever nature, and all payments on what- 
ever account are duly credited. 

The various items of the Treasurer's annual 
accounts of Receipts and Disbursements, as 
audited and passed upon by Committees of the 
Board, from year to year, are herein posted in 
detail, after the final adjournment of each an- 
nual meeting ; and these items are then trans- 
ferred by Double entry to their appropriate 
heads in the Leger ; thus exhibiting at a glance 
in an intelligible and lucid order the whole 
Fiscal Operations of the Institution from its 
original Incorporation in 1789, to the close of 
the year 1853, a period of sixty-four years." 

I ask, nae be ye Whig or Tory, 
For Commonwealth or Right Divine ; 

Say— dear to you is England's glory, 
Then gi'e's a hand o' thine. —Old Sons. 

On the bridal eve of Peleusand Thetes, 
when the world was yet young, "all went 
merry as a marriage bell." The Celestials 
were there, welcome, joyous guests. — 
While wine and converse flowed and 
sparkled around the festive board, sud- 
denly, a golden apple was thrown among 
them, on which was written, " let the 
beauty take me." Juno, Pallas and Ve- 
nus, respectively laid claim to the prize. 
The Celestials met in secret conclave, and 
Jove willing to do them all a pleasure re- 
ferred the decision to the Shepherd on 
Mount Ida. His decision was the cause 
of many woes to Greece and Ilium, and to 
the fair GSnone. 

The allegory of the golden apple is un- 
claasieally metamorphosed into the "bone 
of contention ;" but the meaning remains 
still the same, and desctiptive of an evil 

present too prevalent among us. To 

expose and eradicate this evil is desirable 
and incumbent on all lovers of order. The 
evil consists in mistaking the true objects 
of pursuit here, and substituting in their 
place those of secondary importance. 

It is perhaps unnecessary to remark 
that the cultivation of the intellectual and 
moral faculties is the legitimate occupa- 
tion of every true collegian, and that evey 
other consideration is of a subordinate 

" The abstract ends necessarily propos- 
ed by a University may be stated, as in 
all, three: 1st, to supply competent in- 
struction ; 2d, to excite the requisite ex- 
ertion ; and 3d, to grant a true certificate 
of proficiency P The proper business of 
the i-tudent, then, is to receive this "com- 
petent instruction," with all its advantages 
and honors. All other honors compared 
with these are accidental, transient; these 
east their shadows over the whole of our 
future life; those perish in a day, and are 
heard of no more. 

The distinctions incidental to College 
are all good and honorable in themselves. 
They are sanctioned by wise and good 
men. We are far from disparaging any 
of them; but we would look at each in its 
proper light, and estimate them accord- 
ingly. Let the struggle for each be pro- 
portioned to its greatness; if we would 
avoid lowering all distinctions, and trans- 
forming them into disgraces. 

S"tne of the evils apparent from a wrong 
judgment on these subjects are misdirect- 
ed exertion, the exertion itself is not of 
that nature which "College regimen re- 
quires. These evils ate prolific of many 
others, envv, hatred, faction, confusion, 
and finally shame and remorse. The un- 
wary youth, on entering College, instead 
of becoming a candidate for intellectual 
honors devotes himself ta some popular 
"Fallitur et falliVvulgi qui pendet ab ore." 

Friends gather around his standard, par- 
ties and factions are formed, College b 



comes a political arena, and wo to Pallas 
and the muses. Instead of subjects which 
have engaged the attention of the wise 
and good of every age, the chances of the 
candidate are discussed, and not unfie- 
quently in a very nnconciliatory manner. 
It is a matter of regret, but true, not- 
withstanding, that dissimulation is resort- 
ed to in these eanvassings. There is a 
smile, and a nod frr all, and out of sight 
a sneer for some ; a cordial invitation to 
visit, and a few hearty anathemas on exit, 
justified by the remark that " he is an 
awful bore," &c, &c. This is what we 
would term acting up to the maxim of 
that prince of politeness and dissimula- 
tors, Chesterfield — ''One never losses by 

Aspersion of character, (we blush to 
»ay it,) is another method. A derogatory 
fabrication is palmed on the opposition, 
and magnified a hundred fold. Revenge 
and vindication becomes the order of the 
day, and then we have literally " much 
ado about nothing." 

The last and most powerful we shall 
mention is a profuse liberality. We con- 
fess the influence of this over our own 
sageship. All these methods, all abused 
by the inexperience and fervor of youth; 
and what are the consequence?. Instead 
of sowing the seeds of friendship, and 
carrying them in our bosoms to grow and 
flourish and cheer through life, we carry 
enmity in:o the future to do its work of 
destruction. Instead of spending the 
hours devoted to learning in the requisite 
manner, we waste' them in idle jargon and 
Bacchanalian rites. 

Thus passes away our College term in 
idle pursuits, and when we are launched 
upon the world, we find ourselves unpre- 
pared. Let the objects which called us 
here receive our first consideration. They 
are sufficient to engage the most of our 
time. Let no man be dispised because he 
has a preference. It is unreasonable, it 
is absurd, and yet such is the fact. 

Why should we permit honors that las.* 
but for a'day and a night, color our whole 
existence ? Who ever heard of them be- 
yond these groves? 
We find no fault with anyjregulation ; but 
we would insinuate to our fellow-students 
the necessity of a reform in heir modes 
of elections. The trust, if violated may be 
taken out of their hands, and methods of 
a more unpleasant nature adopted. 

We clip the following from the Louis- 
ville Journal^ which tells its own story 
too well to require any comments from 

We suggest, however, that as this im- 
portant office will soon have to be filled 
again for our next Commencement, we 
be casting about us for a good and able 
man in which everdenomination that may 
'•ome in course, and that he be selected 
with an eye single to the interest of the 
University and not to gratify any whimsi- 
cal or sectarian affection. 
To the Editors of tlie Louisville Journal : 

Gentlemen : Some time during the last 
spring, there appeared in the Tennessee Baptist 
a communication signed " Chapel Hill," follow- 
ed by an article by the editor of that paper, pur- 
porting to give ihe state of affairs at the Uni- 
versity of North Carolina. The communica- 
tion and editorial remarks formed such a tissue 
of puerility and intolerance that I would not 
take any notice of them were it not that their 
tendency is to inflict an incalculable injury on 
the trustees, faculty, and students of the ins'itu- 
tion,and I avail myself of the wide circulation 
of your paper to correct the false impression the 
article alluded to must have created. 

The subject which has aroused the Baptist's 
holy horror is the prospect that the University 
of North Carolina is about to become a Roman 
Catholic institution ! Was a more foolish idea 
ever entertained? North Carolina, composed 
of the descendants of the English Reformers, 
the Scottish Presbyterians, and the French Hu- 
guenots, allow her University to degenerate in- 
to a Popish institution 1 But to the article. — 
The Baptist's correspondent, after premising 
that, but for the timely discovery and thwarting 
of his plans, that Roman Catholic, Ex-Bishop 



Ives, would have gotten control of the Univer- 
sity. He tells the world that at the next (last) 
annual commencement a Jesuit was to preach 
the sermon before the graduating class ; that the 
senior class had invited John Hughes, of New 
York, to address them on that occasion, and 
then breaks out into a most piteous apostrophe 
on the fallen condition of the " poor, old North 
State," and leaves it to Brother Graves, of the 
Baptist, to continue the lugubrious strain, which 
the aforesaid Brother Graves does in a tone of 
wild consternation, deep sorrow, and refined 

The communication in the main is t r ue. As 
regards Bishop Ives, however, the w iter has 
fallen into an error as palpable as it is silly. — 
How is it possible, we should like to know, for 
the University to come under the control of any 
particular sect — not to say individual ? Is it not 
under the immediate control cf a faculty who 
are as free from the charge of Popery as the 
writer himself or the "Baptist" either? Ar*" 
not the faculty as well as the students under the 
direct supei vision of a board of trustees, chosen 
by the Legislature of the State from every re- 
ligious denomination, with the exception per- 
haps of the Romanists ? The fact that the in- 
stitution is a State University, where every one 
may enjoy his religious opinions without inter- 
ference, precludes the idea that the University 
cin become even a sectarian institution, and 
shows at once the absurdity of the writer's opin- 
ion. Of the three hundred students of the Uni- 
versity, not one but would repel indignantly the 
assertion that he could possibly be brought un- 
der the yoke of Romanism. By what means, 
then, could Bishop Ives have intended to Cath- 
olicize the institution ? 

Men of weak or ill-regulated minds form 
opinions and pass judgment on any question 
without sufficient knowiedge and a full view of 
the subject. Whether the editor cf the Baptist 
deserves to be classed among these I leave the 
reader to determine, after I have given the lacts 
of the case: When the senior class met to select 
a commencement preacher, they were much di- 
vided between several Protestant clergymen; 
and after many ineffectual attempts to elect one, 
a number of the members gave their votes for 
Archbishop Hughes, and thereby elected him. 
Now these members well knew that tlere was 
not the least probability that he would accept 
the appointment, and that his alternate was 
virtually eiected commencement preacher. — 
When they wrote to Archbishop H., informing 

him oi his election, they received answer from 
his secretary that he was absent from homo ; 
and without receiving an answer from the Arch- 
bishop himself, they informed the alternate, 
Rev. Mr. Lowe, of the M. E. church, of hit 
election, and requested his acceptance. 

Such was the transaction that threw the"Bap- 
tist" into the wildest consternation, made him 
believe that Carolina was overrun by Popery, 
and advise parents to remove at once their sons 
from that hot bed of Romanism, the University 
of North Carolina. Because, forsooth, the se- 
nior class were guilty of an action, which, to 
say the woist, was only imprudent, the "Bap- 
tist" lises with the wrath of Jove, saddles the 
trustees, Jaculty, and students with the charge 
of conniving at the inroads ol Popery in allow- 
ing Archbishop Hughes to be elected com- 
mencement preacher. Now, dear Bro. Graves, 
if you had been better informed in the case your 
orthodox spirit would not have been so much 
excited, for you would have known that neither 
the trustees, faculty, nor the students have a 
right to object to the choice of the the seniot 
class, provided they choose s respectable chris- 
tian clergyman. 

The Baptist, in the fullness of its iury, goes 
on to ask on what sut.ject and what kind of a 
sermon would the Archbishop preach? Would 
he endeavor, Brother Graves inquires, to incul- 
cate the abominations and follies of the Church 
of Rome ? Whould he try to prove the supre- 
macy of St. Peter and his successors, and de- 
fend confession, purgatory, and the various rites 
and ceremonies of the Mother Church at Rome? 
Or, if his sermon would take an educational or 
political turn, what would he say of the diffu- 
sion of education among the masses, and of our 
free institutions? Now, Mr. Baptist, to all this 
let me answer by asking you another ques-tion: 
If you were chosen to deliver the sermon before 
the next graduating class, would you attenlpt 
to show that Baptists should not commune with 
other denominations, or that baptism by immer- 
sion only is well pleasing in the sight of God 1 
That would not be allowed, for the institution 
is a State University, from which sectarian 
controversy is carefully excluded. You seem 
not to have borne in mind, as Archbishop H. 
would certainly have done, that there are a 
great majority of evangelical doctrines, about 
which all denominations of christian agree. As 
to edncation and politics, we might reasonably 
expect that he would take those grounds on 
which he attempted to plant Romanism in his 



celebrated discussion with Breckinridge ; more 
than this we do not ask. jNow, Mr. Baptist, 
ruminate on these facts, which seem never to 
have entered your brain, and see if there are not 
many, very many things that Archbishop Hugh- 


The editor of the Baptist has certainly be- 
trayed a spirit of persecution. Had the Metho- 
dists raised the hue and cry that the election of 
Dr. Hawks to this same position by the preced- 
ing class was a sure sign that the institution 
was placed under the control of the Episcopal 
Church, an J for that reason attempted to over- 
throw it— had the Presbyterians, at the still more 
recent election ot Mr. Lowe, declared that the 
ina'itution and all connected with it were con- 
niving at the usurpations of the Methodists, and 
therefore were unworthy of the countenance 
and patronage of all true Calvinists— they would 
not have displayed a more unreasonable and 
persecuting spirit than has this very " Baptist" 
in its assualt on the University. 

Many parents living in the immediate section 
of the Baptist have sons at the University of N. 
C. We hope there has not been created among 
them any greater anxiety than the truth de- 
manded. To remove the wrong impressions 
created by the article alluded to, as we said be- 
fore, is our only reason for noticing it. An ob- 
•cure person destroyed in a few hours the mag- 
nificent temple of Diana at Ephesus ; and we do 
not think it meet that the blind fury of an in- 
tolerant sectarian should destroy at one blow 
the good name of the Alma Mater of Polk, Ben- 
ton, Dobbin, W. R. King, W. A. Graham, and 
•cores of other illustrious names. 

In conclusion we would advise the Raptist to 
attend to the progress of Romanism in its own 
region. Be not afraid that Popery can ever gain 
a foothold in Carolina ; and above all be not so 
ailly as to believe that the University of North 
Carolina can ever become a sectarian institu- 
tion, while the " poor old North State " is so 
well able to take care of herself, her University, 
and her religion. 

1854! — How easily those figures run 
off our pen, and how familiar they look ! 
Did you not make your first letter this 
year just twelve months too old? Then 
were you reminded of what we too would 
recall. Did you hear the clock strike 
twelve and the thundering cannon an- 

nounce that 1854 was no more ? Then 
did your heart, as did ours, flutter altern- 
ately with sensations of pleasure and of 
pain? Some star of joy, sparkling in its 
original lustre, would pass leisurely across 
your excited memory, but soon again all 
was darkness and disappointed hopes 
threw out their signs upon your relaxed 
features. Have you ceased to think even 
now, when the "skirts of departing year " 
are rapidly disappearing, and the trappings 
of his latest wear are almost decayed, of 
the richness of his halcyon days as well 
as the depths of hib gloom ? 

One year ha fled, 
And with it, but what boots the retrospection^ 
Alas ! there is no lingering like affection. 

Then suffer us to indulge in these re- 
miniscenes, and record whatever is con- 
nected with our old acquaintance, wheth- 
er of good or of evil report. 

It's true, he has done no more for us 
than for others, and what we have felt' 
others have equally; but it is meet that 
all should bestow a tribute to his memory, 
and charge or give him credit upon the 
pages of hereafter, for the uneasiness or 
disagreeableness of his giving. The addi- 
tional strata, which his sweeping flood 
has deposited upon the plains of our 
changeful lives, contains many a valuable 
'specimen' for future reflection and many 
a vein of golden pleasure. 

And it is a fact, no less true because so 
oftcVi apparently disregarded, that the 
seed of human action sown one year bears 
Ks fruits for. the next. Either they are to 
bud and blossom as the rose and " flourish 
as the green bay tree by the river's side," 
or, they|must decay in the soil which cov- 
ers them, or spring up to be devoured by 
the fowls of the air and poison them in 
the eating. 

But, reader, whither have you been 
strolling? Have you not found all from 
" first to second childhood," the innocent 



as well as the guilty, chasing the butter- 
fly of pleasure and grasping at the bubble 
of happiness? 

You have been the miser, perhaps 
hoarding for the ruin of an ungrateful 
heir, or the thoughtless spendthrift squan- 
dering what was given for enjoyment.— 
It may be, that we have been Ambition's 
votaries crawling up by pulling others 
down, and seldom offering a helping hand 
to the half-fledged tyro who would essay 
a bolder flight. 

The " anglers for hearts " have also 
been abroad, wooing and being wooed — 
how many have "gone out for wool and 
come hack shorn themselves?" 

And all this striking for — — what? — 
But shall we not imagine what others did ? 
Why, others wooed and won. The cot- 
tage shelters the "Lovely .May/' and its 
fire burns brightly to-night. He's no am- 
bitious politician nor hoarding miser, but 
a scientific farmer and a rational enjoyer 
of life's luxuries. She's no broomstick 
handler nor sewing machine advocate, but 
an amiable disposer of domestic troubles, 
and an active Lucretia among her hand- 

We rather think the 'others' are the 
'elect' of 1854, and should like to be num- 
bered among the same for 1855. 

The following was found in the pocket 
of one of the 'six,' and 'done up' so very 
neatly that if he had been among' the la- 
dies we might have suspected it as a fe- 
male 'flight,' but even then it isn't proba- 
ble that, she should know so much about 
" corn," &c. 


Deeds, I sins;, of high renown, 

That roused from sleep the unconscious town 

With dread affright, 
When Luna clad in cha tened sheen, 
Pour'd o'er the soft nocturnal scene 

Her liquid light. 

Then Freshman, fresh as dewy morn, 

Refreshed with potent draughts of " corn/ 

Exuhant rose — 
"Shake off, my lads, ihe classic dust ! 
Let's break by one magn fie ' bust' 

The town's repose." 

In their aocustom'd corner found, 
Are brought the horn of grating sound, 

The clattering pan, 
The shriil-ton'd. piercing, squeaking fife 
Harsh as tones of shrieking wile, 

And whiskey can. 

Equipped with instruments aright, 
They sally forth upon the night, 

With courage high ; 
One seizes bold the sounding bell, 
Another takes his stand to Ml 

Of danger nigh. 

And now the tones of groaning bell, 
Unite with trumppt'stwa'g to swell, 

The growing roar; 
Thus Gungle's operatic band, 
Pour'd floods of discord o'er the land 

In days of yore. 

The din barbaric iiscs high, 
As if the broad o'er-archingsky 

'Twould r^nd asunder ; 
As when from mount Olympus fair, 
Jove hurls his red bolts through the air, 

With rumbling thunder. 

Professor snugly coil'd in beJ, 
Reluctant lifts his drowsy head, 

To catch the sound: — 
" What means this pandemoni»n rout 1 
By Hercnles ! the Fresh are " out," 

I'll take a round." 

'Neath the moon's transparent light, 
He wends h : s devious way by night 

To College green ; 
As on he stalks in classic ] ride, 
And thro' the shadows seeks to glide, 

His form is seen. 

To bell-man the alarm is vain, 
Professor rushes up amain, 

And shoots ihe bolt ; 
"Urged on hy orer-draught of 'corn,' 
The youngster now may ring 'till morn, 

A stabled colt." 

Oh ! thou verdant, ill-star'd swainj 



That tug'st the bell with might and main, 

A luckless wight! 
In belfry "cribb'd" without a hope, 
Before thee swings the dangling rope, 

Suggestive sight! 

Ye Fresh ! with what transcendent joy, 
Would mother see this darling boy, 

Behave so smart ! 
To herself she*d sigh no doubt, 
"Oh! that John were fairly out 

With 3ix feet start." 

Professor stands a sentry bold, 
Cast in aldermanic mould, 

With luok profound ; 
Bell-man's friend just out of view, 
New arguments and weight)/ too, 

Finds on the ground. 

The rascal with " a brick in his hat," 
Hurls at sentry a brick-bat ; 

Sentry struts ! 
A second comes! he looks around, 
A third ! and with a sudden bound 

Sentry "cuts." 

Now rush the roaring blades apace, 
And rescue soon the verdant " case " 

With friendship true ; 
Bell-man wildly rushing out, 
Sends aloft a joyous shout, 

And fades from view. 

Where's the man that now can tell, 
Who 'twas that toll'd the iron bell 

Wilh silver sound? 
Boast not of safety yet, my lark ! 
" Lay low, youngster, and keep dark !" 
The Gov'ner's "round." 

Horse-fly on a 

Poetic Flight. 

Celtic Theory of Dreaming. — It was 
during one of IJugh Miller's visits to the 
house of his " Cousin George," vvh'> lived 
high up i'n the romantic country of the 
Highlands, and while strolling one singu- 
larly delightful morning with that com- 
municative friend along the shores of 
Lock Skin, they halted beside a " tower 
of hoary eld ;" and among other curious 
Highland s'ories, he communicated to 
him a tradition illustrative of the Celtic 

f theory of dreaming, which we hav e 
thought would be interesting to those 
who have not yet had the pleasure of read- 
ing his Autobiography. 

"Two young men had been spending 
the early portion of a warm summer day 
in exactly such a scene as that in which 
he communicated the anecdote. There 
was an ancient ruin beside them, separa- 
ted, however, from the mossy bank on 
which they sat, by a slender runnel, 
across which there lay, immediately over 
a miniature cascade, a few withered grass 
stalks. Overcome by the heat of the day» 
•me of the young men fell asleep ; his 
companion watched drowsily beside him ; 
when all at once the watcher wasaroustd 
to attention by seeing a little indistinct 
form, scarce larger than an humble-bee, 
issue from the mouth of the sleeping man, 
and leaping upon the moss, move down- 
wards to the runnel which it crossed 
along the withered grass stalks, and there 
disappeared amid the interstices of the 
ruin. Alarmed by what he saw the watch- 
er hastil3 r shook his companion by the 
shoulder, and awoke him ; though with 
iill his haste, the little cloud-like creature, 
still more rapid in its movements, issued 
from the interstice into which it had gone, 
and, flying 1 across the runnel, instead of 
creeping along the grass stalks and over 
the sward, as before, it re-en fe red the 
mouth of the sleeper, just as he was in 
the act of awakening. '' What is the 
matter with you," said the watcher, great- 
ly alarmed. " What ails you ?" " Noth- 
ing ails me," replied the other ; "but you 
have robbed me of a most delightful 
dream. I dreamed I was walking through 
a fine rich country, and came at length 
to the shores of a noble river; and just 
where the clear water we«t thundering 
down the precipice, there was a bridge all 
of silver, which I crossed ; and then, en- 
tering a noble palace on the opposite side, 
I saw great heaps of gold and jewels ; and 



I was just going to load myself with 
treasure when you rudely awoke me, and 
I lost all." 

I know not what the assertors of the 
clairvoyant faculty may think of the sto- 
ry ; but I rather believe I have occasion- 
ally seen them make use of anecdores that 
did' not rest on evidence a great deal more 
solid than the Highland legend, and that 
illustrated not much more clearly the phi- 
losophy of the phenomena with which 
they profess to deal." 

Secrets. — Is there not a secrecy ob- 
served in regard to certain transactions 
within our Lit. Societies, which adds noth- 
ing, if it does not detract from their suc- 
cess? Of course, they are and should be 
secret, so far as is necessary to throw a- 
round them that sanctity which the inter- 
est of each requires, and upon this we 
would not dare to tiample; but, we think, 
if by a mutual understanding of each, the 
names of the Anniversarians and Vale- 
dictorians were divulged and published 
through our Magazine, the most fastidi- 
ous would acknowledge the propriety of 
the change. 

We have space only to call attention to 
this matter,though many reasons are pres- 
ent to us in its favor. We leave it to 
the consideration of all, and hope that we 
shall follow in the wake of sotnr- others 
whose example, in other respects, we 
have been proud to imitate. Pourquoi 
non ? 

The following was a bona fide preach 
whether in N. C, Va., S. C, or any oth- 
er State, it matters not, nor by a mem- 
ber of what denomination : 

Brethren- The subject to which I wish 
to direct your prayerful attention, is 
found in Luke's book. 19th chapter, 21st 
verse, which reads about thus : "Thou art 
an austere man, reaping where thou hast 
not sown, and taking up where thou hast 
not put down." 

Now I shall consiler this text diaboli- 
cally and divide into two parts. When 
thus considered it may be divided into a 
temporal and a spiiitual sense. When di- 
abolically divided and letnpoially consid- 
ered it should be interpreted in this wise. 
This austere (oyster) man goes out into 
the broad waters and gathers up with his 
longs that which he has not put down and 
thus reaping where he has not sown. This, 
brethren, is the fair interpretation diaboli- 
cally considered. 

But spiritually it is explained in this 
wise. We ministers are the tongs which 
are used by God in taking up the poor 
sinners from the mires of sin and degrada- 
tion, and pulling them into the boat of the 
church which is to land them upon the 
wharf of Heaven. And this, brethren, is 
the true meaning spiritually consideied. 

Do you not think it an abominable, or, 
to say the least, a tasteless fashion, which 
makes its votaiy oomb her hair back 
as though she wished to thiust her head 
through some narrow opening 1 Certain" 
ly, a lady is made to look bold enough by 
setting that bonnet of hers upon the aver- 
sam partem of the head, if boldness is the 
desideratum, although the hair be combed 
smoothly over the temples as good taste 
demands, but we never thought such an 
air kata skema and becoming female love- 

Besides a high forehead was never de- 
sired, but rather concealed, by the ancient 
models of female beauty ; and, when Hor- 
ace sings the praises of insigntm tenui 
fronte Zycorida, he means to say, " Ly- 
coris, celebrated for her low forehead." — 
Excuse us, ladies, it is expected that we 
should say more of a bonnet than a hat. — 
You can only return a cold shoulder, you 
know, which is nothing like aJ)uJlet. 

Who has Heard This? — A common 
tradition attributes the black line, or cross 




upon the shoulders of the ass to the blow 
inflicted by BaUiam; in allusion to which 
a witling, who had been irreverently sneer- 
ing at the miracles in the presence of Dr. 
Parr, said triumphantly, " well, Doctor, 
what say you to the story of Balaam's ass, 
and the cross upon its shoulders?" "Why, 
sir," replied the Doctor, '* I say that if 
you had a little more of the cross and a 
great deal less of the ass, it would be much 
better for you." 

Hung before Caught. — We never 
heard any general rule without an excep- 
tion, and to the one " the perpet. ator must 
be caught before he's hung," we think the 
following answers very well. "I had 
missed several shoats from my pen on the 
swamp," said an old fanner to us in the 
vacation, " and I suspected a rascal of a 
man who lived just across the swamp. One 
morning, after finding another gone, Icon- 
eluded to go over and see him, thinking 
perhaps I might see some sign or gain 
some other information in regard to my 
hog; and, though there was quite a sleet 
snJ the logs were very difficult to be cross- 
ed, I concluded the case was urgent and I 
would risk it. I had advanced to almost 
midway when I discovered through the 
bushes what f could not then account for. 
On I scrambled till I reached the open 
stream, and, by tte way, the most difficult 
part of the crossing, when lo! there hung 
* my man' on one 6ide of the foot log and 
' my hog' on the other ! He had as un- 
wittedly as the sailor who tied the rope 
of his harpoon around his waist, fastened 
the hog to his neck and attempted to cross 
these logs during the night. 

Although the poor fellow was suffering 
extremely from the cold and from his un- 
successful efforts to pull the hog over 1 
could butsmile and when I saw him"dang- 
ling," I. thought of the pungency of the 
' cut' which my son had told me a few 
nights before that the President of the Uni- 

versity was accustomed to make about 

But few of us have the genius which the 
editor of (he Louisville Journal ascribes to 
the Louisville Times, the latter having 
boasted that, he was not deceived by the 
'- Fall of Sevastopol." 

No telegraphic falsehood him deceived, 
He scented truth and it alone received, 
His genius, quick as Heaven's electric fire, 
Grasped truth — and left the lie upon tne wire. 

Objections. — It has been urged by those 
of our old graduates who diop from cur 
list that the -'Mag." contains but little con- 
cerning the every-day affairs of College 
and is theiefore wanting in what would 
be the most attractive feature to them. — 
On the other hand, we are sometimes 
charged by those of our friends, not so 
much interested in these particulars, of be- 
ing too local. It requires no little skill to 
serve two masters, but we shall hereafteT 
have this object more prominently before 
us, ana show a desire at least of gratifying 
each, which with a generous patron, 
should avail much. 

We hope, however, that neither will 
lose all interest in that department not spe- 
cially his own. As for the Alumnus, we 
might find good reason to complain some- 
times of bis apparent indifference to the 
more important matters connected wtth his 
Alma Mater, and even judge of him as 
havnig used 

" Young ambitions' ladder, 
Whereto the climber upward turns his face, 
But when he once obtains the utmost round. 
He then unto the ladder turns his back, 
Looks unto the clouds, scorning the base de- 
By which he did ascend." 

But as a general thing they do remem- 
ber the 'rock from which they were hewn,' 
and we shall expect as much from them in 
regard to the matter in hand. To our oth- 



er friends we would repeat that our Col- 
lege world is a true miniature of that in 
which they are moving, and besides, much 
of what is going on here daily is forming 
the minds, and therefore the destinies of 
poslerity— such cannot fail lo be of inter- 
est to all. 

Lectures. — We would have no one to 
suppose that in what we are about to say, 
we would reflect upon the energy and fidel- 
ity of our instructors ; for, though we feel 
at liberty to speak whatever our conscience 
approves, whether in praise or otherwise 
of them, truth compels us to bestow a well- 
merited compliment upon the indefatigable 
manner in which they continue to labor 
for the advancement of this Institution. — 
But we wish to call their attention, as well 
as that of all other friends of the Univer- 
sity, to what we humbly consider a deside- 
ratum in our exercises. Lecturing is uni- 
versally conceded to be an efficient mode 
of imparting knowledge, and it is an in- 
crease of this means of instruction that we 
wish. And we do not refer entirely to 
such lectures as pertain directly to our 
text-books, though they are excellent in 
their places, and as they are now given, 
but we want familiar dissertations upon 
the practical affairs of life as well as upon 
the literary topirs of the day. There is 
a natural disposition in almost every 
youth to know what is going on in the 
world around him, and many desire such 
information as shall be of a practical use 
to him in after life. Unless this can be 
given him through a medium, at once re- 
liable and expeditious, he will seek it in 
the perusal of different authors at the ex- 
pense of much time. Thus is answered 
the very objection that the number of bad 
scholars would be increased by any means 
which would direct attention othewise than 
wholly to text-books, for while a strict at- 
tention to text-books, is desirable and is 
what every instructor insists upon, it has 
been found that only a small proportion are 

brought to that conclusion by abslractrea^ 
soiling. The laboring man doesn't move 
with more energy after his meals and his 
usual holidays, because of his increased 
physical strength alone. Emulation, a 
desiie to excel for the sake of excelling, 
we have ever considered an improper prin- 
ciple, and we know of no bet;er means of 
correcting it than that suggested — estab- 
lish a connection between the end to be 
attained, and the means being acquired for 
fts accommplishment. In conclusion, we 
repeat the modest opinion that the supply 
of this mode of instruction is not now 
equal to the demand, and as an evidence 
of how much pleasure we converse with 
living men after pondering over the scat- 
tered ashes of the dead who have slept for 
hundreds of generations, we have only to 
refer to the general satisfaction, and in- 
deed, we might say, enthusiasm, with 
which the series of lectures de.ivered by 
Dr. Baird were received. Who shall de- 
liver these lectures and how they are. to 
be paid for are questions yet to be answer, 
ed. Members of the Faculty have, per. 
haps, as much as they can attend to in 
their several departments. We would 
wish there was here, as at some other col- 
leges, a Lecture Fund, the interest of 
which could pay the requisite amount. — 
But, if not otherwise, the students are 
willing and anxious to contribute some of 
the money spent here, session after ses- 
sion, in those miserable humbugs — boxing 
and writing schools, mnemonics, &c, for 
the purpose of securing the services of 
some competent men, who would thus oc- 
casionally instruct them and vary the 
wearisome routine of their labors. 

Additions to the Faculty. — Messrs. 
R. H. Battle and Wm. R. Wetmore, have 
been appointed Mathematical Tutors, and 
have entered upon the discharge of their 

Mr. A. G. Brown was made adjunct Pro- 



feasor of Languages, at a late meeting of 
the Board of Trustees— a promotion he has 
long since deserved. 

In the division of the Senior class for 
the old and scientific courses, 17 took the 
r old course,' 16 took the three lessons on 
Agricultural Chemis ry ; 12 the sewn les- 
sons on the same, and 8 will study Civil 
Engineering - . 

From the many articles we saw in dif- 
ferent papers during vacation from 'Chapel 
Hill/ we should judge the 'Cacoetha' was 
here, and we hope to have visible signs of 
its raging in our sanctum during the five 
months to come. 

Monsieur Cecil Wylum. — Your poetry 
is respectfully declined. The Editors are 
thankful for your learned strictures, and 
they sincerely trust they may prov,? emi- 
nently serviceable to your own honor.— 
They respectfully request of you a speci- 
men of "Corn-bread" poetry, and some 
potato effusions, if you have any. They 
have not been able to fix the precise date 
of the ideas embodied in your verses, suf- 
fice it to say that they were quite familiar, 
and as they thought hackneyed. They re- 
commend to your notice Alexander Smith 
on the Stars, and an "Essay on Poetry" 
by Leigh Hunt. 

University in the Vacation. — With 
our earthly natures, it seems that Elysi- 
um itself would fail in some of the essen- 
tials of happiness. And although Chapel 
Hill approaches as near that ideal as any 
spot on this terrene, there are times when 
its resources of pleasure seem to be ex- 
hausted. That time, Oh, gentle reader, 
is in the winter vacation. Whether it is 
the icy hand of the winter god that chills 
the pleasure-giving fount, or the subjec- 
tive condition of the student, or the objec- 
tive condition of the " indigines," I know 
not; but this I do Know, that the fointain 

is chiled, frozen, until it expands in its 
very frigidity. 

As far as my own experience goes, I 
am willing to acknowledge that the evil 
lies in myself, and I suppose that this will 
be corroborated by rny brethren in afflic- 
tion. For how can it be otherwise in 
such a spotas this consecrated to science, 
poetry, beauty incomparable, hospitality, 
gayety, and all that. That element to 
which we wouid give prominence, as one 
of the constituents of happiness here, is 
beauty. Reader, imagine yourself in a 
dream, and behold with me the Houris of 
the classic groves. First, and therefore 
greatest are the resident nymphs. Those 
whose presence ever gladden the student's 
heart; whose smiles awaken in his bosom 
those sentiments, which he, foolish wight, 
would set on poetic feet. Knowest thou 
not, Oh tyro! that your poetic fame would 
soar higher on the wings of silence than of 
rhyme and time. Content thyself with the 
reflection that you are " a poet in a'e 
sense," and let the sentiments which beau- 
ty here awakens be like the halo around 
the magnet, invisible to blunted sensibili- 
ty. Let the sentiment of beauty, I add, 
shine forth in thy gallantry, attention, 
yea, ardent devotion towards the fair in- 
spirers: thus thou wilt win laurels as green 
as the highest sons of song, and envy dare 
not approach with poisonous breath to 
wither them. 

We have read several attempts at the 
analysis of beauty ; and we are ready to 
prove " a posteriori," that they are based 
upon erroneous conceptions : and " Shel- 
ly" very beautifully remarks that 

'• A thing of beauty is a joy forever," 

which also we affirm, by the same reason- 
ing, to be wrong. If any one can doubt these 
dialectics let him come, and instead of "a 
posteriori" praof, he will receive convic- 
tion " a priori" which Aristotle cannot 
overthrow. So much for the residing di- 
vinities of the place, and for fear of being 
drawn into some poetical vortex, we add 
no more, always excepting these expres- 
sive lines of Shenstone,- 



" Yes, here alone did highest heaven ordain 

The lasting magazine of charms, 

Whatever wins, whatever warms, 

Whatever fancy seeks to share, 

The great, the various, and the fair, 

Forever here remain." 

And now, ye tripping nymphs of St. 
Mary's to you, a prosaic, weak mortal 
would pay his " devoirs." He cannot 
soar into those regions where ye reign su- 
preme in beauty; but like a good knight 
and true he will proclaim your charms on 
'* terra firma ;" aye, and support his proc- 
lamation with sword, lance, and shield 
against all the knights in Christendom 
from Don Quixote to Tom Thumb, " Lais- 
eez aller." Solitary would be this place, 
if your presence had been withheld. Ma- 
ny hearts of Fresh., aye, of Sen. would 
have lain cold in their bosoms, and aw- 
ful consequences might have accrued, had 

not the sunshine of your favour warmed 
them to life and — and — 1 — it must come 
out — love. 

Sweet young flowrets, on whom have 
descended only the spring dews of life, 
innocence and gladness, in whose vision 
the present is joy, and the future without 
a cloud. On, on, your youthful fancy 
glides — let it go. 

And when ye return to the shrine of the 
" Madonna" forget not that your presence 
awakened a sentiment of hope in the breast 
of the " disappointed." Well we have had 
— how many parties ? 3X2, at 5 — (1-1-1 
-1-1) of which we rejoiced. We are now 
overflowing with pleasure, and bound 
with joy to the contest. Welcome back, 
oh ! ye worshippers at the shrine of sci- 
ence, and rejoice with me over the joyi 
of a " Vacation at Chapel Hill." 



Vol. IV. 

MARCH, 1855. 


No. 2. 

Over and above the ennobling love 
of our native country which is common 
to the hearts of all men of sensibility 
and worth, which takes rank with the 
affections, and is as much a part of our 
natures as love of home and kindred — 
there is, we presume, to all, some land 
more especially an object of curiosity 
and interest, some region of country 
where chiefly the imagination loves to 
resort when framing its visions of more 
than every-day loveliness p.nd romance. 
Doubtless the dreamland of many lies 
among the temple-crowned hills, and 
haunted fountains of the Old World, 
where every ruin is rich in storied as- 
sociation, and wreathed with a thousand 
tender and glorious memories. The 
sunny plains of Italy, the mountain 
slopes of Greece, the wild glens of Pal- 
estine have indeed all that art or poetry 
or religion can give to challenge the 
interest and veneration of all hearts. — 
Nature herself is there but a secondary 
object of consideration in the presence 
of the wonderful histories, the grand 
dramas which he,r scenes recall. Other 
minds love rather to wander far away 
through southern seas to the strange 
Vol. IV.— 4. 

beauty and wild luxuriance of tropical 
lands : — 

Never comes the trader.never floats an European 

Slides the bird o'er lustrous woodland, droops. 

the trailer from the crag, 
Droops the heavy blossomed bower, hangs the 

heavy fruited tree — 
Summer isles of Eden lying in dark purple 

spheres of sea. 

But we confess that the hunting 
grounds of our fancy lie not in those 
directions. Whether from caprice, or 
some accident of education, some earlv 
childish vagaries strengthened and fed 
unconsciously, we know not, but the 
scenes of our day-dreams of romance 
and adventure, the points to which were 
turned all dim and longing hopes and 
inquiries, have ever lain among the 
wide and free vallies, the great moun- 
tain ranges of the Far West. We leave 
the lands of the olive and myrtle, the 
graceful myths and splendid realities- 
of their olden time, and turn gladly, as 
from palace halls where the air is cloud- 
ed and heavy with the fumes of incense, 
and haunted with music and song, to 
those vast untroden wilds where the 
winds sweep over the fountains of the 



Missouri and her tributaries, or further 

Where rolls the Oregon and hears no sound, 
Save its own dashings. 

It is perhaps nobody's business to 

Great Ocean, and attentively consider its 
immense extent, its resources, its grand 
and varied features, the towering mouu- 
tains,the flower-lit prairies, and the broad 
willow fringed rivers slowly rolling thro' 
the silent wildernesses — without a thrill 

know exactly how many years ago it is f admiration and awe. What is to be 
since \*e were a little child, and all the the future of such a country ? Shall it 
dark days of a certain December found evervbe tamed and peopled? Shall 

and left us sick and sad conditioned 
Like one of the dreams of that fever it 
is that we remember yet the face of the 
good Samaritan who appeared one day 
at the bedside, binding up our griev- 
ances, and taking us at once to a house 
of entertainment by bestowing on us a 
beautiful christmas annual, " The Wes- 
tern Souvenir," gorgeous in crimson and 
gold. The book abounded in tales of 
Western life and adventure, and pic- 
tures of Western scenery. We read it 
through a great many times that win- 
ter, skipping only the love stories and 
stumbling over the poetry, and from 
that time forward the words West and 
Western possessed a strong and feverish 
interest for us. Washington Irving's 
w Tour on the Prairies," added to this 
interest, and his " Adventures in the 
Rocky Mountains," and "Astoria" com- 

civilization and the unresting Anglo- 
Saxon make highways through those 
stern and awful defiles, and build 
churches and postoffices, and carry the 
fashions even under the solemn shadows 
of the Wind River Mountains t *" These 
questions are not difficult of solution on 
comparing the narrative of Captain 
Bonneville's adventures in the Rocky 
Mountains with Captain Stansbury's re- 
port of the same country some twenty 
years later. Where the early pioneer 
broke his rugged way through perilous 
wilds, fording the great streams, and 
penetrating the mountain gorges with 
no other guide than the traditions and 
reports of Indiaps and trappers, igno- 
rant of the country beyond the-verge of 
their horizon and gathering information 
as they wandered, — the later traveller 
led his well appointed military and 

pleted the charm. No account ot those scientific company along a broad well 

Tegions ever came amiss to us, and when 
two years ago appeared Stansbury's Ex- 
pedition to the Great Salt Lake, we 
eagerly retraversed that beloved and 
familiar ground with his company and 

beaten emigration road, crossing the 
rivers, by ferries and finding at every turn 
some trace of the living tide that has 
poured along that route, beyond those 
mountain barriers, towards the setting 

gladly renewed our acquaintance with sun an( j t h e land of gold 

the windings ot the Sweet Water and 
the Platte. 

We think that no one can look over 
ft map of the vast and almost unknown 
country lying, between the Valley of 
the Mississippi and the waters of the 

• The greater part of this country has 
been well known for many years to the 
trappers and traders connected with the 
various Fur Companies^ which drew 
from it a rich revenue. Bands of white 
men and half breeds together roved 



over the elevated, untimbered plateaux 
that stretch on this side of the Rocky 
Mountains, and either in league, or at 
•war, with the numerous Indian Tribes, 
whose hunting grounds they were inva- 
ding, led a wild and perilous life of ad- 
venture, as much for its pleasures as for 
the peltries they sought- Irving gives 
many a graphic sketch of these free 
hunters — a class distinct and strongly 
marked, and who are rapidly passing 
away with the times and the necessities 
that produced them. 

"There are perhaps no men on the 
face of the earth who lead a life of more 
continued exertion, peril and excitement, 
and who are more enamoured of their 
occupations than the free trappers of 
the west. No toil, no danger, no pri- 
ration can turn the trapper from his 
pursuit. Drop him in the midst of a 
prairie, or in the heart of the moun- 
tains, and he is never at a loss. He no- 
tices every landmark ; can retrace his 
route through the most monotonous 
plains, or the most perplexed labyrinth 
of the mountains. His passionate ex. 
citement at times resembles a mania. — 
In vain may the most vigilant and cru- 
el savages beset his path ; in vain may 
rocks and precipices, and wintry tor- 
rents oppose h : s progress ; let but a sin- 
gle track of a beaver meet hia eye and, 
he forgets all dangers and defies all dif- 
ficulties. At times he may be seen with 
his traps on his shoulder, buffeting his 
way across rapid streams, amid floating 
blocks of ice ; at other times, he is to 
be found with his traps swimg on 
his back, clambering the most rugged 
mountains, scaling or descending the 
most frightful precipices, searching, by 
routes inaccessible to thehorse, and ne- 

ver before trodden by white man, for 
springs and lakes unknown to his com- 
rades, and where he may meet with his 
favorite game." 

For those who undertook the perils 
of exploration for the gratification of cu- 
riosity, or the thirst for novelty, there 
were ample inducements and rich re- 
wards in the magnificent panoramas, 
the unparalleled scenery that surround- 
ed them. One such view as this from 
a snowy peak of the Wind River moun- 
tains, infinitely overbalances the toil of 
attaining it, if we may take Captain 
Bonneville's word — 

" He stood at last upon that dividing 
ridge which Indians regard as the crest 
of the world ; and on each side of 
which the landscape may be said to de- 
cline to the two cardinal oceans of the 
globe. Whichever way he turned his 
eye it was confounded by the vastness 
and variety of objects. Beneath him, 
the Rocky Mountains seemed to open 
all their secret recesses ; deep, solemn 
valleys ; treasured lakes; dreary passes . 
rugged defiles, and foaming torrents; 
while beyond their savage precints, the 
eye was lost in an almost immeasurable 
landscape ; stretching on every side in- 
to dim and hazy distance, like the ex- 
panse of a summer's sea. Whichever 
way he looked, he beheld vast plains 
glimmering with reflected sunshine ; — 
mighty streams wandering on their shi- 
ning course toward eifher ocean, and 
snowy mountains, chain beyond chain, 
and peak beyond peak, until they melt- 
e'AJike clouds into the horizon. For a 
tiiJie the Indian fable seemed realized ; 
he had attained that height from which 
the Black foot warrior, after death, first 
catches a view of the land of souls, and 



beholds the happy huuting grounds, 
spread out below him, brightening with 
the abodes of the free and generous 

"We confess that there is much in 
such descriptions and details to stir the 
imagination, and put to the blush a life 
of civilized languor and indifference. — 
We do not wish to be understood as 
exalting the art of beaver trapping above 
that of ship-building or of book making. 

But when weary of the fevered rival 
ries, the tea-table conventionalities of 
our social life, it is pleasant to dream 
that where Nature exists in primeval 
grandeur and beauty, Man too, breath- 
ing that free wild air, would feel its in- 
vigorating, expanding influence, and 
casting away the dependencies and vi- 
ces of civilized life, would return to the 
generous simplicity and innocence of 
earlier days. It is an old dream, how- 
ever, and destined never to be realized. 
More than two hundred years ago an 
English poet sighed forth " a vehement 
desire to retire himself to some of the 
American plantations, not to seek for 
gold, or enrich himself with the traffic 
of those parts, which is the end of most 
men that travel thither, but to escape 
forever from the vanities and vexations 
of the world." How provokingly com- 
plete the demolition of all such hazy 
visions in the matter-of-fact hands of 
Dr. Johnson — " he who has so little 
knowledge of human nature as to seek 
for happiness by changing anything but 
his own dispositions, will waste his life 
in fruitless effort, and multiply the grid's 
which he purposes to remove." ** fl 

It will not be long that the banks of 
the Colorado and the Platte will remain 
unpeopled. A new way of life has ta- 

ken the place of the wild foray or soli- 
tary adventure, and that is even now 
come to pass which was thus beautiful- 
ly foretold not twenty years since : 

" The fur trade itself, which has giv- 
en life to all this portraiture is essential- 
ly evanescent. The fur-bearing ani- 
mals extinct, a complete change will 
come over the scene : the gay free trap- 
per and his steed, decked out in wild 
array, and tinkling with bells and trink- 
etry ; the savage war-chief, plumed and 
painted, and ever on the prowl ; the 
trader's cavalcade, winding through de- 
files, or over naked plains, with the 
stealthy war party lurking on its trail ; 
the buffalo chase, the hunting camp, 
the mad carouse in the midst of danger, 
the night attack, the stampado, the 
scamper, the fierce skirmish among rocks 
and cliffs — all this romance of savage 
life which yet exists among the moun- 
tains, will then live but in frontier sto- 
ry, and seem like the fictions of chival-' 
ry or fairy tale." 

We are sorry to feel so little sympa- 
thy as we do, for the native owners of 
the land, the red men, who are passing 
away with the wild animals that once 
roamed their forest with them. But we 
have never been able to get up any en- 
thusiasm for these unhappy aborigines, 
these "natures' noblemen." Let us 
say here once for all that your crafty, 
unwashed savage in no way approaches 
our idea of an unsophistocated noble- 
man. Here and there we light upon 
some traits among them of generosity 
or of heroism, but these are the excep- 
tions. The North American Indian has 
few of the elements of romance about 
him. The mysterious influences under 
which they are melting away, disap- 



pearing before the pale faced invaders 
of their soil, is their strongest claim up- 
on our interest and sympathy. It does 
indeed seem hard for iketn, as they re- 
treat step by step across the continent, 
and entrench themselves in their moun- 
tain fastnesses in vain, for even there 
shall the church and the school-house 
be built, but not for them, and the plow 
be passed over the graves of their fath- 
ers. The characteristics of the various 
tribes are as distinct as if they were in- 
dividual personalities. The Root Dig- 
gers, poor and simple and timid, con- 
tented with dried fish and roots, and 
seldom aspiring to be the owners of a 
riflle or a horse, the Grows and their 
cousins, the Nez Perce's, mercurial and 
thievish, and philosophically disposed 
to take the world merrily and easily, 
knowing varlets at a trade, withal, and 
not unapt to make a joke of robbing you? 
the Black-feet, proud and fierce and vin- 
dictive, the most untractably savage of 
them all, and the most dangerous, be- 
cause be'ter armed and mounted. No, 
we cannot find it in our hearts to ad- 
mire an Indian any further than we 
would an eagle or a wild horse, — 

" For we hold the grey barbarian lower than a 
Christian child." 

A part of Bonneville's company, in 
1833, were detailed to explore the 
shores and neighborhood of the strange 
lake of salt water just beyond the Wah- 
satch Mountains, and losing their way 
am one; the salt deserts on the Western 
side, they straggled over the California 
Mountains, down to the little trading 
post of Monterey, on the Pacific coast. 
It is amusing to seethe entire uncon- 
sciousness, the innocence, so to speak, 

with which they traversed that land of 
gold — the naivete with which they no- 
ticed the ,; advantages of the soil" — 
the capabilities of the harbor of St. 
Francis, and the possible importance of 
the Californian country in some future 
age. The times were not yet ripe for 
the reaping that golden harvest, and so 
they blundered back, neither richer nor 
wiser, over those mountains and valleys 
that kept so well their splendid secret. 
If the subjugation of the Far West had 
waited upon the slow advance of the 
frontier posts of civilization, step by 
step from the valley of the Mississippi- 
in the. usual course of things several ge- 
nerations would have passed away with- 
out seeing much progress. But in the 
lmrried march of Time in these later 
ages of the world, when great events 
are crowding upon our horizon, and we 
seem to be hastening with rapidly in- 
creasing momentum to the great con- 
summation of all things — nations are 
born in a day, and cities and hamlets 
spring up in the wilderness with magical 
celerity. Bands of adventurers, and 
trains of emigrants however well ap- 
pointed and determined would have 
been successively swallowed up for ma- 
ny years by the dangers and difficulties 
of the overland route to the shores of 
the Pacific. To break a road at once 
and establish a foothold and station 
among those wild mountains and their 
hostile tribes, the march of thousands at 
a time was needed — united and irresis- 
tible in one aim and one enthusiasm.— 
And this was effected in the exodus of 
the Mormons, when four thousand men, 
women and children were driven to put 
twelve hundred miles of wilderness be- 
tween themselves and the civilized 



world. Suddenly, on the shores of that 
great Salt Lake, in the very heart of 
the Rocky Mountains, has sprung up a 
nation ; the State of Deseret, the land 
of the Honey Bee, has become the half 
way house of the Far West; and with 
whatever disgust we may consider the 
Mormons themselves, we must acknow- 
ledge the Providence that ordered them 
there, and has made them equally with 
the veins of gold that lie be\ond, his 
instruments in shaping the destiny of 
this Continent. 

There is great pleasure in following 
Stansbury's expedition to the Mormon 
country. The cheeiful good temper 
and steady perseverance with which he 
and his party met and overcame the 
hardships and perils of the undertaking 
are inspiriting, and in spite of romance 
there is after all, a certain comfortable 
assurance of mind to be derived from 
the presence of barometers, and chrono- 
meters on such a journey. Powder and 
shot are all very well in their way, and 
by no means to be dispised when be- 
yond the bounds of civ : lization, but 
there is to our mind no slight stay in 
the presence of a theodolite, and we 
are not sure but that the sight of a 
triangulation station in a case of per- 
plexity and distress, would be as great 
a " medicine " in our eyes as in those of 
the veriest Indian going. Irving's book 
may be called the poetry of the Rocky 
Mountains, and Stansbury's the prose. 
Irving alludes to the privations and 
perils as if they gave only zest and 
piquancy to the adventure, but Stans- 
bury says plainly that a supper and 
breakfast of raw bacon, "dry so" is not 
good to take, and demonstrates more- 
over that if you spend the intervening on a desert mud flat with nothing 
but artemisia bushes to shelter you 
from snow and sleet, instead of finding 
the romance of your situation sufficient 
to stir blood, you will be very apt to 
find yourself frozen stiff in the morning, 
and be laid up unpoetically enough with 
the rheumatism. Stansbury's object, 
however, being not to make picturesque 
sketches but an accurate and scientific 
survey of the great Salt Lake, he con- 
fined himself to a report of that work. 
His narrative, though straightforward, 
is very delightful. 

Arriving at the Mormon city too late 
in the year to commence his survey of 
the Lake, he spent the winter among 
that people and both he- and his assist- 
ant officer, the lamented Gunnison, ap- 
peared to return with kindly feelings 
towards them. The Mormons indeed 
extended to the party so much generous 
hospitality, and gave such invaluable 
assistance in prosecuting their work 
lhat it would have been almost impossi- 
ble to have mentioned them without 
gratitude and some partiality. The 
faith professed by the followers of the 
prophet Smith is such a low and gross 
fanaticism, such a return to old delu- 
sions and shallow mockeries of religion, 
that we are in danger of holding them 
too much in contempt and utter scorn. 
It is difficult to give them credit for any 
intelligence, or refinement, and provok- 
ing to be compelled to allow them any 
claim to consideration or importance. 
Yet reinforced as they continually are 
by throngs of converts from Europe, 
(and many thousands of proselytes it is 
said, are still waiting there the means 
to come over,) it is likely they will grow 
and flourish for some time to come and 




become formidable by their numbers, at 
least. Looking at the past history of 
all such sects however, it is consolatory 
to see that the seeds of discord and dis- 
ruption are early sown and germinated 
among them. Where woman is de- 
grated, and where tbe religion of 'the 
Cross is put to open shame, there needs 
no prophet to foretell the future. — 
Meanwhile we have some curiosity to 
know what our government will do with 
them — ''• knocking at our doors for ad- 
mission into the Union !" We think 
the very knocker would need cleaning 
after such a use. Yet Stansbury says 
"that their wishes in this respect will 
shortly be realized, may be considered 

That the Mormons have shown great 
judgment in their selection of a location 
and in the cultivation and expansion of 
its resources, cannot be denied. Turn- 
ing their attention at once to agricul- 
ture and the raising of stock, as the on- 
ly means of prosperity within their 
reach in such an inland situation, they 
have applied themselves with admira- 
ble industry and skill to the cultivation 
of the soil, the erection of mills, the im- 
portation of labor-saving machinery, and 
the improvement of their cattle. The 
portion of land reclaimed by them is 
small, but prodigiously productive. The 
strip of land susceptible of cultivation 
stretching along the base of the Wah- 
satch mountains, from about 80 miles 
north of Salt Lake city, to about 60 
miles south of it, embracing the fertile 
valley of Lake Utah, is studded with 
flourishing farms, and all over that 
great Basin wherever a favorable loca- 
tion has b^en ovserved, and facilities for 
settlement, they have planted stations, 

which each year sees growing into im- 
portant towns. Their object is to estab- 
lish a line of communication with the 
Pacific, to afford aid to the emigration 
from abroad. These stations are, of 
course, connected with each other, and 
dependent together on the head at 
Salt Lake, by the bond of their religion, 
tie net-work of the priesthood, which 
Stansbury seems to think irresistible 
and indomitable to its enthusiasm and 
concentration. Gunnison, however, hints 
at discords and heresies and schisms in 
the church, and discontent and uneasi- 
ness in the social system, which, if hu- 
man nature there is identical with hu- 
man nature every where else, seems to 
us much more probable, and indeed in- 
evitable, than the couleur de rose rep- 
resentations of Capt. Stansbury. After 
enumerating their appropriations for the 
cause of education — by the way, what 
will they teach in their University, where 
are their text-books and their literature ? 
— he winds up thus, and truly we can- 
not disagree with him : — 

" When it is remembered that with- 
in the space of four years this country 
was but a wild and dreary wilderness, 
where the howl of the wolf and the yell 
of the miserable Indian alone awoke the 
echoes of the mountains, and where the 
bear, the deer, and the antelope roamed 
securely over what is now a compact 
and populous city ; that in defiance of 
physical obstacles sufficient to discour- 
age the most sanguine imagination and 
to appal the stoutest heart, that they 
have collected a population of some 
twenty thousand souls, united, 'perseve- 
ring and prosperous — the mind is filled 
with wonder at witnessing the immense 
results which have been accomplished 



in so short a time, and from a beginning 
apparently so insignificant." 

The survey of Salt Lake was com-', 
menced in April 1850, and occupied 
three months of most severe and unre- 
mitting toil and privation. The diffi- 
culty of procuring fresh water and pro- 
visions for so large a party of men, the 
inadequate means of transporting their 
supplies, and the barren savage inhospi- 
tality of the region they were obliged 
to traverse contributed to render the 
survey so unusually arduous and pro- 
tracted. They built two boats with 
much difficulty, owing to the scarcity of 
timber, and with them navigated this 
solitary sea, visiting and naming all its 
islands, and erecting on each, triangu- 
lation stations. These islands are the 
resort of myriads of wild fowl, pelicans, 
gulls, blue herons and wild ducks and 
geese. Some of the islands are of con 
siderable extent, and green and fertile 
enough, but most of them are mere bar 
ren crests of rock. The water of the 
lake has been pronounced upon analy- 
sis to be *' one of the purest, most con- 
centrated brines known in the world." 
Many scenes of great beauty and gran- 
deur are described with a quiet appre- 
ciation which is more to our taste than 
any labored transports or stilted rap- 
tures : Captain Stansbury's eye to busi 
sipess did not interfere with his eye for 
the picturesque. On the western shore 
of the lake the land stretches away for 
many miles, a dead flat of arid sand or 
salt mud and marsh, to the great range 

of mountains forming the ancient bar- 

riers of what must have < nee been a vast 

inland sea. Many lives have been lost 

on this desert, and much property, by 

emigrants incautiously entering on it. 

, Not a drop of fresh water can be found 
in manv days journey. Fremont him- 
self, the great pioneer of that country, 
had nearly lost his life on one occasion, 
crossing it. Stansbury, too, had nearly 
perished, though with every precaution, 
his mules having been for sixty hours 
at one time deprived of nearly all sus- 
tenance. The whole of tlrs vast ex- 
tent of land is forhuman habitation en- 
tirely worthless. 

On completing his surveys, Stans- 
bury's company left the city of the 
great Salt Lake in the latter part of 
August, taking a more southern route 
homewards, in order to judge of the 
most practicable route for a road in that 
direction. It would seem to us that 
for all practical purposes the roads 
through those mountains whose canons 
are filled in the winter with snow to the 
depth of fifty feet, must be useless for 
nearly half the year. The route lying 
between the degrees 38 and 39, so al- 
luringly set forth by Col. Benton is free 
from this objection according to him. 
In view of the snow storms, the south- 
ern routes are decidedly the only avail- 
able ones, and we long to see the day 
when the engineer and chain carrier 
shall be busy in that magnificent work, 
a railroad from St. Louis to San Fran- 
cisco. What a junction it will be when 
those two cities shake hands in the val- 
leys of the famous Coocbatope Pass ! — 
Mr. Benton's speeches are the best pos- 
sible expositions of that scheme, and we 
recommend the fullness and compre- 
hensiveness of his details and the graph- 
ic power of his sketches to all whose 
imaginations need stirring up. 

One thing pleases us especially, that 
the largest experience and the greatest 



still in such matters should after all ap- 
peal to the oldest inhabitant of that vast 
country, to sustain their views; — they 
consult the Buffalo, and men are satis- 
fied with his verdict. This is not by 
any means the first time that Art and 
Science have taken hints with advant- 
age from the beautiful adaptations and 
unerring instincts of old dame Nature, 
at whom they are apt upon occasion to 

turnup their noses while they pronounce 
her old-fashioned and behind the times. 
We say it is a pleasant and wholesome 
sight to see these aristociatic dignities 
leading the wealth and ambition of a 
continent, meekly pursuing the trail 
and availing themselves of the bliijd in- 
stinct of the wild Buffalo of the West. 




in the town of Wilmington in the year 
1775, Dec. 7th. 

His father, Mr. George Hooper, was 
ihe brother of that eminent patriot and 
juiist William Hooper, Signer of the 
Declaration of Independence. He was 
a merchant, and prosecuted trade, for 
the major part of his life in the town of 
Wilmington. His intelligent enterprise, 
and assiduity were, in the end, reward- 
ed with comparative opulence. He 
was a loyalist from honest conviction; 
but took no part in the war of the revo- 
lution, because he could not find it in 
his heart to imbrue his hands in the 
blood of his neighbors. When Major 
Craig evacuated Wilmington, he ac- 
companied his forces to Charleston, 
"where he was disposed of in spite and 
malice, by Craig, in consequence of 
* Letter from Johnson J. Hooper to Mr. Lor- j his great intimacy with Mr. William 

I cannot but lament that the gloom 
of recent domestic calamities prevents 
the more practised f>-n of Mr. Loring, 
" the cherished friend* " of the deceas 
ed, from di>charging that duty to his 
memory to which his heart, I know, 
warmly prompts. 

My own inability to fix dates, and 
thus determine with precision eras in 
the, life of Mr. Hooper ; and the scanti- 
ness of materials at my command are 
to me sources of unavailing regret. — 
would that it were in my power to pay 
a worthier tribute to the worth of one 
who honored me with his regard, and 
correspondence, than is coutained in this 
meagre, and imperfect sketch ! 

Mr. Archibald M. Hooper was born 



Hill.**' His relations with all the 
Whig leaders on the Lower Cape Fear 
were intimate and cordial, and in dispite 
of his politics, survived the revolution. 
Respect fov his character was general, if 
not universal. He possessed a rigorous 
intellect, was well informed; and reput- 
ed*to be a good writer. 

Mr. A. M. Hooper's maternal grand- 
father was Mr. Archibald Maclaine, il- 
lustrious for his ability, his attainments^ 
and his patriotism. "In the year 17 19 
three younger sons of Maclaine of Lock- 
lonie in the Highlands of Scotland, all 
liberally educated, and prepared for the 
ministry, migrated to Ireland. The el- 
dest of these three, Thomas Maclaine, 
settled at Monoghau, and wa* the fath- 
er of Archibald Mclaine, pastor of the 
English Church at the Hague."f The 
latter was the father of our distinguish- 
ed North Carolinian. In early youth 
"Mr. Maclaine was one of the firm of 
Archibald and John Maclaine, engaged 
in business in the town of Wilmington. 
John died, and Archibald, the surviving 
copartner, failed. Nothing but his tall 
and athletic figure, and the manly beau- 
ty of his face, distinguished him at that 
period. If the judgment of my inform- 
ant is to be relied on, he was of no pro- 
mise. His education had been confined 
to English and Arithmetic. He had ac- 
quired a very thorough knowledge of 
accounts under a merchant of Dublin, 
to whom, I imagine, he must have been 
apprenticed for the usual time (seven 
years.) He had no talents for public 
speaking, was extremely prolix; and, 

* Letter from A. M. Hooper, 
t Letter from A.M. Hooper. 

for some years after he had commenced 
practice, it was believed that he never 
could succeed. When, at length, he 
rose it was suddenly, and above his own 
expectations, as well as the opinions of 
his friends."* Very soon after Mr. Mac- 
laine came to the Bar, so rapid was his 
mastery of the Law, his attainment of 
general knowledge, his expansion of 
mind that bis right to a place amongst 
the foremost in the profession was at 
once conceded, and never afterward 
questioned. Whatever the disadvanta- 
ges of his youth, his indomitable will 
and persistent industry soon triumphed 
over them. He was a member of the 
Congress at Hillsboro', August 1 7*75 ; 
and member of the Committee of Safe- 
ty for the Wilmington District, in 1776. 
In the Convention that met at Hillsboro' 
June 1778, to deliberate upon the pro- 
priety of adopting the Federal Consti- 
tution, he was the rival of Iredell, Davie, 
and Johnston, in dialectical skill, learn- 
ing and eloquence. He was the un- 
doubted superior of any others in that 
body, though it was a fair representa- 
tion of the talent of the State. He re- 
presented Wilmington many years in 
the Legislature. "He was one of the 
Committee appointed to organize the 
courts. That was a numerous commit- 
tee. Gov. Samuel Johnston and Archi- 
bald Maclaine were members of it ; and 
on them devolved the labor of that great 
work, which resulted in the celebrated 
act of 1777, called the Court Law. Mac- 
laine drafted the bill — Johnston revised 
it."f Mr. Maclaine was a dicided Fed- 

* Letter from A. M. Hooper, 
t Letter from A. M. Hooper. 



eralist. His zeal was so intemperate i 
that be especially provoked the enmity of 
the opposite party. On one occasion, 
while in Bladen, a cowardly assault was 
made upon his person by a violent mob. 
The indignation excited by the insult 
offered to such a man was almost uni- 
versal. The rioters were promptly in- 
dicted. As it was feared that an effort 
would be made to obstruct the course of 
Justice, by the numerous relations and 
adherents, Gov. Martin issued orders to 
General Lillington to hold his brigade 
in readiness for a prompt march to the 
ecene of disturbance, being resolved, at 
all hazards, to sustain the majesty of the 
Law. The criminals were committed) 
I believe, and properly punished. Mr. 
Machine's letters, of which many have 
been preserved, in my opinion, in point 
of scholarship, ability, style and chiro- 
graphy, are superior to those of any 
of his cotemporaries. One of his sons, 
as ardent a whig as bis father^ served as 
a Captain during the Revolution. 

Of Mr. Archibald M. Hooper's youth 
but little is known. I know not who 
were his teachers, or what the nature of 
the instructions he received. In early 
manhood he came to the Bar. In some 
of the Counties of the State he became 
the prosecuting officer, perhaps the so- 
licitor, for the Circuit in which he lived. 

He was not morally qualified for suc- 
cess, though intellectually equal to any 
effort. He was guileless, unsuspecting, 
of child-like simplicity of character. — 
He " wore his heart upon his sleeve,'' 
and as necessarily happens in this work^ 
whose annals are so stained with fraud, 
and treachery, vice and crime, he suf 
fered much and often. He was not cap- 
tious, but amiable by nature. JVhen 

conscious of wrong — woe to him who 
provoked his wrath ! Quick, and flash- 
ing with light, his shaft sped, resistless, 
to the heart of his victim. He was 
soon suspected of a fondness for polite 
letters. It was whispered that he not 
only read but wrote literary essays him- 
self. At that day such a suspicion was 
fatal to legal reputation. Is it not too 
true now ? I know that there are ma- 
ny honorable exceptions. Let those 
gentlemen of the Bar, who have con- 
nected themselves with the press an- 
swer. Not many years since, I remem- 
ber that an eminent lawyer, whilst a 
distinguished rival was addressing the 
Jury, remarked to a circle of bystand- 
ers, of whom I was one — " Oh ! he 
writes poetry." The curl of the lip, the 
tone, and the action indicated that he 
thought the stab destined to inflict no 
inconsiderable wound. 

Mr. Hooper, while at the Bar, wed- 
ded Miss Charlotte De Bemiere, daugh- 
ter of Col. John De Berniere, of the 60th 
Regt. of the British Army. He was 
most fortunate in his selection of a wife. 
She was a most amiable and estimable 
lady. She shared, but to lighten the sor- 
rows and cares of his declining years; as 
she participated in, but to heighten the 
joys aud feiicities of his early manhood. 
She was the mother of his children, and 
survived him but a lew short months. 
In disgust, Mr. Hooptr abandoned 
his profession for a more congenial pur- 
suit. He became Editor of the Ca; e 
Fe;tr Recorder, and so continued from 
the first of the year, 1826, to the close 
of the year 1832. The life of a man of 
letters is devoid, necessarily, of those 
striking incidents, which iti the me- 
moirs of warriors thrill the nerves, and 



inflame the heart with admiration: Yet 
it is not without its uses. Even when 
not illustrious, and when it does not 
produce the great works that charm 
and instruct successive ages : like the 
stieam it has a beauty of its own — in 
the calm, and in tlie sparkle of its wa 
ters: and, indirectly, in its power of 
quickening thought, in generous aid 
extended to others — its excellence is 
seen and felt in the plant that catches 
a rigorous life, as well as in the flower 
that owes a tenderer hue, to its refresh- 
ing waters. The columns of his paper 
are enriched with sketches, some brief, 
others more extended, of the " Massaen 
at the eight mile house," Harnett, Ab- 
ner NafeK, Caswell, Davie, Irede'l, John- 
ston, Moore, and others — all from his 
own pen. Under his auspices are most 
interesting contributions to be found 
from Mr. Joseph A. Hill, Mr. Junius 
Moore, and Dr. John Hill, young men 
just commencing a distinguished career, 
and whose efforts constituted the "Ra- 
gout,'' whose savory odnur lent an ad- 
ditional charm to the "Recorder." In 
his career as editor, the flowers which 
he carelessly strewed along the way 
will well reward with their peifumethe 
friendly hand, that shall gather them 
together. After the death of his father 
Mr. Hooper possessed a large estate. — 
He owned Maciaine's Bluff (*ince kno^n 
as Mean's Bluff) and a plantation with 
extensive Salt works on the Sound. — 
He, however, had but little idea of the 
value of nr-ney. He was hospitable, 
deficient in habits of economy, and a ioo 
indulgent master to his slaves. H^ did 
not know how to desert a falling house. 
The cry %< Sauve qui peuV never echoed 
in his heart. His sympathy deepened 

with the misfortunes of his friends. He 
was embarrassed by his own liberal ex- 
penditures, and further involved by oth- 
ers. After manly, but ineffectual strug- 
gle, he was reduced from wealth to 
poverty. That he acted well during his 
years of adversity and trial I donot doubt. 
After diligent enquiry I have yet to hear 
the first charge affecting his honesty as 
a man or his honor as a gentleman. 

About this time Mr. Hooper wrote a 
memoir of William Hooper, to be seen 
in Wheeler's History, and elsewhere. 
This essay is a fair, and very character- 
istic specimen of his style as a writer. 
The compiler of the American Biogra- 
phy or Lives of the signers of the Declara- 
tion of Independence, in 5 vol. publish- 
ed in Phil, in 1828, while quoting from 
this sketch, intimates a suspicion that 
it is "too highly colored." Unable to 
realize upon the distant Cape Fear the 
existence of a society at that period less 
numerous but more refined than that of 
Buston or Philadelphia, with shallow 
arrogance he insinuates his doubt. The 
sketch is decidedly superior to any oth- 
er of that great patriot as yet offered to 
the public. Mr. Hooper does not give 
us dry words — men skeletons : he 
breathes life under the ribs of death — 
he awakens the dead again — the high 
color is but the glow of animation, the 
flush of the warm blood, that courses 
again through (he veins; it is but the 
bloom of fruit ripened under a soudiern 
sky — the charm of Bancroft and Pres- 
cott, and the English Macauley. 

Alter the termination of his editorial 
life, Mr. Hooper served sometime as an 
officer of the Customs. From this post 
he was discharged by the Collector. — 
He published a pamphlet over the sig- 



nature of Cains Visitor. Far he it 
from me to revive the animosities that 
provoked its publication, or those that 
it engendered ! Let them rest in the 
grave, where Mr. Hooper's charity had, 
as I believe, interred them years before 
his demise. I deal with the pamphlet 
as a literary production. I have noth- 
ing to do with its personalities. It is 
embellished with portraits of the differ- 
ent gentlemen who successively filled 
the office of Collector, from the founda- 
tion of the Republic to that day. Mr. 
Hooper was remarkable for his analyses 
of character, distinguished for delicacy 
of touch, finish of minute details, nice 
discrimination of shades. The sketches 
alluded to are remarkable for their beau- 
ty and felicity. 

Mr. Hooper, in the latter part of his 
life, went to Pit'sboro' to reside with 
his daughter. I had the pleasure of 
seeing him there sundry times. In con- 
versation he had great power. He was 
a most fascinating companion. He had 
great vivacity ; abounded in anecdotes 
and revolutionary reminiscences. He 
was indeed an " old man eloquent." — 
He could kindle in the cheek a generous 
flame, move to mirth, or suffuse the eye 
with tears, at pleasure. 

He here prepared memoirs of Gen'J. 
Ashe, Win. Hill, Gen. Howe and oth- 
ers. As a proof of the vivacity of his 
mind, I quote an extract of a letter writ- 
ten to me when over 70 years old. The 
extract is interesting in other points of 
view : 

" It was at the battle of Guilford. A 
division of the British Regulars were 
advancing with great impetuosity to at- 
tack a regiment of the American Army, 
under Col. Gunly. The regiment was 

displayed in lines three deep, in confor- 
mity with the principles of military sci- 
ence in that day. The treble lvnks 
stood perfectly still— it might be with 
immoveable fortitude— or, it might be, 
in despairing stupifaction, at the ap- 
proaching onset, that seemed to menace 
them with terrible destruction. Not a 
man could be seen to move — not a leg, 
not an arm, not a head. The whole 
was to the gazing eyes of anxious spec- 
tators, an inert mass, standing as if root- 
ed to the ground; Davie was one of 
these spectators. He saw the hostile 
division, dashing onward, as if to assured 
victo.y. His anxiety was wrought up 
to the highest pilch. Turning to the 
officer next to him, he exclaimed, — 
•'Great G — d ! is it possible that Col. 
Gunly is going to surrender himself and 
his whole regiment to the British arms?" 
At the appalling moment, when he ut- 
tered this fearful interrogatory, the Bri- 
tish veterans were within 30 paces of 
i heir seemingly insensible victims. The 
words had scarcely fallen from his lips 
when a tall figure — it was Col. Gunly, 
himself— stepped out in front of the 
line ; and in a stentorian voice gave the 
orders — " Make ready ! — Take aim ! — 
Fire !" The last order was executed 
with dreadful precision. The foremost ve- 
terans were, in Davie's words, mowed 
down by it; the advancing lines were 
broken ; and before they could recover 
from the sudden and unexpected check, 
the same voice was again heard in tones 
of thunder : " Fix Bayonets ! — Charge !" 
The Whig regiment charged, and re- 
charged with prodigious fire, and deter- 
mination ; and the onset, which a 
few minutes before, menaced annihila- 
tion to everything in its course, was 



transformed into a disgraceful rout. An 
English prisoner standing near to Da- 
vie, cried out — "Is it possible that the 
King's troops, are handled in this sort 
by a parcel of raw recruits ?" 

Mr. Hooper adds in a postscript — 
" By the time this letter reaches you I 
s shall have passed my 70th year. My 
birth-day will be the 7th Dec. My 
health is better than it has been for the 
last 2 or 3 years, which inspires me 
with the hope of of effecting something 
in the coming year ; and tempts me iu- 
to reveries, of a longer continuance of 
life and energy." Mr. Hooper wrote 
much in his declining years — never with 
the hope or expectation of gain. This 
never occurred to him. His labors were 
labors of love. In the year 1849 Mr. 
Hooper removed to Crawford, Russell 
county, Ala., with his wife, for the pur- 
pose of visiting his son George. He 
died there A. D. 1853, Sept. 25, in the 
78th year of his age. Mr. Hooper had 
issue four sons and two daughters. Of 
these Maclaine died in his boyhood. — 
He was the youngest. Mary was dis- 
tinguished for her blushing modesty, 
her sprightliness of mind, and extraor- 
dinary beauty. Hers was a face, which 
once seen is never forgotten, but is cher- 
ished by the memory with a love such 
as that with which the connoiseur of 
painting regards some masterpiece of 
his cabinet. She lived long enough to 
awaken a general admiration, and died 
in the early bloom of her womanhood. 
Louisa partook of her father's peculiar- 
ities. She was, like him, unworldly and 
unselfish. Of great personal attractions? 
talents and attainments — she wedded 
the Rev. Mr. Cobia, of S. C, a gentle- 
man in the last stages of consumption 

but to soothe the pains of the sufferer, 
and smooth his path to the grave. She 
subsequently married the Rev. Mr. Jno. 
J. Roberts, of N. C, but survived this 
union but a few years. A vein of ro- 
mance seemed to run through her char- 
acter. She was in the world, yet seem- 
ed not of the world. I have been star- 
tled with a vision of such loveliness— so 
artless, yet so iuformed — in the verse of 
the poet; but have never met another 
like herself in actual life. His three 
oldest sons still live — John DeBerniere, 
lately Prof, at Chapel Hill— as I think, 
the most accurate Greek and Latin scho- 
lar of his age and day — George a mem. 
ber of the Bar at Columbus, Ga., and 
like his brother, an admirable scholar • 
Johnson, whose fame as a humorous 
writer is American. Of these gentle- 
men I will only say that we have a right 
from their antecedents to anticipate for 
them a career honorable to themselves 
and useful to the public. 

I cannot deny myself the pleasure of 
embellishing this sketch with an extract 
from a letter written by Mr. Geo. Hoop- 
er for Mr. Loring. I fear I may offend, 
but the letter' has so much merit, it is 
so like his father's in style that I can- 
not resist the temptation*. Let tb« 
gratification of my readers plead my 

* I have omitted to state that before Mr. 
Hooper became Editor of the Recorder, he act- 
ed for a while as Cashier of the Wilmington 
Branch of the Bank of the State of N. C. 

t The Letter here referred to was not sent 
with the copy.— [Pub. 




Hitherto the country of the Amazon 
and its tributaries has been to us as a 
Sealed book. All that we have known 
of it has been gathered from sources en- 
tirely unreliable, because of the interest 
that was had in concealing the truth : 
And unknown it would most likely have 
still remained, but for the enlightened 
policy of President Fillmore and his 
Cabinet. His administration able and 
patriotic as it was, distinguished alike 
for its devotion to the interests of the 
country, its equality of justice, and un- 
flinching integrity, receives its crown- 
ing glory from the exploration of the 
valley of the Amazon. In this he has 
opened to us and the world in all its 
grandeur, a vast interminable field of 
enterprise and wealth ; — a country re- 
splendent in beauty, inexhaustible in 
resources, and dazzling with its match- 
less splendor of jewels and gold; — a 
country where nature seems to have 
lavished all her gifts, and taken pecu- 
liar pleasure in decking hill and vale 
with royal magnificence. 

In February 1851, Lieutenants 
Herndon and Gibbon- were ordered, by 
Mr. Graham of the Navy Department, 
to explore the Amazon, examine its con- 
fluents, and to report their capacities 
for navigation and commerce. They 
were to notice the nature and extent of 
the resources that might lie in conceal- 
ment there, whether of the field, forest, 
river, or mine. All this did the com- 

petent Lieutenants perform with a de- 
gree of skill and accuracy at once cred- 
itable to themselves and the government 
they represented. The result of this ex- 
pedition is before me. It is comprised 
in two volumes neatly gotten up and 
handsomely illustrated. The incidents 
are related in an easy and engaging 
manner, free from all affectation. The 
curious will here find details of absorb- 
ing interest, and also facts to corrobo- 
rate the statements in this article. 

Immediately upon the reception of 
orders, the gallant Lieutenants set out 
for the field of their labor. In order to 
direct their steps intelligently, the mon- 
asteries at Lima were consulted for in- 
formation, which proved to be meagre 
and unsatisfactory ; but which aided 
them materially in forming plans for fu- 
ture operations. Since it was an object 
of the highest importance that as much 
of the great basin of the Amazon be ex- 
plored as the means placed at their dis- 
posal allowed, Gibbon and Herndon 
separated ; the former proceeding south 
by Cuzco to survey the Bolivian 
tributaries, while the latter descended 
the main trunk of the i river. The 
sketches of modern Peru are very en- 
tertaining, especially those which refer 
to the sad remains of the grandeur and 
power of the Iucas. We call to mind 
the deeds of unholy daring which a fe- 
verish desire of gold excited in the ad- 
venturous troops of Pizarro. The eu- 



pidity of these Spaniards was inflamed 
by rumors of EI Dorado, a region filled 
with gorgeous cities, houses, aud tem- 
ples decorated beyond all that imagina- 
tion could picture, and ruled by a king 
whose garments were of in-wrought 
gold. Notwithstanding these adven- 
turers braved the perils of the wilder- 
ness in search of this gilded domain, his 
royal highness was never stripped of 
his robes or even interrupted at his 
toilet. The proud dominion of the In- 
cas was at last brought to a tragical 
end, and all their splendid and massy 
ornaments of gold fell into the hands of 
their conquerors, which induced them 
to think that if this was not El Dorado 
that at least it was the long lost Ophir, 
from whence Solomon obtained so many 

Tie mineral wealth of this country 
can scarcely be over-esLimated. For 
centuries it has given to the world un- 
told quantities of gold and silver, and 
still the mines seem as productive as 
ever, and as inexhaustible as the moun- 
tains themselves. The Silver mines of 
Cerro Pasco have yielded annually since 
their discovery in 1630, over two mil- 
lions of dollars. But the miners are 
comparatively few and deficient in the 
art, and the means of transportation are 
slow and tedious ; hence it is that these 
mines are turned to little account. There 
are many veins abandoned, and many 
others which have never been worked 
at all. Governmental reports of Bolivia 
show that in one district there are at 
least four thousand rich veins of gold 
and silver, only sixty-five of which yield 
their embosomed wealth. Accounts 
from other places present facts equally 
as striking. And besides gold and silver, 

there abounds, in the Andes, from the 
isthmus of Darien to the straits of Ma- 
gellan, quantities of murcury, lead, iron, 
copper, tin, antimony, sulphur, salt, ni- 
tre, vitriol, &c. The diamond regions 
on the Tapajos contain in themselves 
sources of almost unbounded wealth. — 
A person may sometimes become vastly 
rich in this region all at once ; but dia- 
mond hunting is at best but a lottery 
business, the most engaging in it are in- 
jured. But H-rndon says, a merchant, 
by carrying dry goods and groceries to 
the miners could clear at least five hun- 
dred per cent in eight months, on the 
capital invested. If the fiction of El Do- 
rado is ever dissipated, it will be when 
science and industry shall develop the 
minerals of South America. Anglo- 
Saxon effort would make these rugged 
hills blossom as the rose, and glow with 
a splendor beyond conception. 

The vegetable kingdom is varied, val- 
uable and abundant. There are many 
varieties of palms, all of which are use- 
ful in furnishing wine, oil, wax or sugar. 
Trjes suitable for building ships are 
found in great abundance ; besides ma- 
ny other kinds fitting for .cabinet work, 
some of which are beautiful, durable 
and capable of the highest polish. In 
a South American parlor eight guests 
can be seated each in a different species 
of mahogany chair. This is the land 
for India-rubber, sarsaparilla, ginger, 
black pepper, arrow-root, indigo, nut- 
megs, gums, medicinal plants of rare 
virtue, and dyes of the gayest colors. 
Delicious fruits grow almost sponta- 
neously, and in the greatest profusion, 
supplying the indolent native and his 
next door neighbour, the monkey, with 
their daily sustenance. Here are oran* 


ges, lemons, citrons, pine apples, pome- 
granates, pears, figs, melons, peaches, 
grapes, and many other fruits which 
become exceedingly luscious to the ac- 
customed palate. 

The farmer can raise three crops of 
Indian corn of good quality during the 
year. Cotton, tobacco and Sugar-cane 
flourish ; and, in fact, any kind of veg- 
etable, which a warm climate and a rich 
soil can produce, may be found in the 
regions of the Amazon. The Coffee 
btsh, with its " dark green leaves, pure 
white blossoms and scarlet berries" pre- 
sents a very pretty appearance. The 
leaves of the coca plant are gathered 
several times during the year, and sold 
at a large profit. As the negro values 
his tobacco, or the Chinaman his opium, 
so does the Indian of South America 
prize his coca leaf. Without it he is 
miserable, with it he is contented and 
happy. Under its stimulating influence 
he sometimes performs almost prodigies 
of labor without food or sleep. 

There are many varieties of climate 
arising from the difference in the de- 
grees of elevation. In the hill country 
the climate is delightfully fresh and 
healthy. A constant east wind tem- 
pers the vertical rays of the sun so charm- 
ingly that you suffer from neither the 
rigor of winter nor the heat of summer. 
From a region of snow and ice, one may 
descend the mountain side and thaw 
his stiffened limbs under a tropical sun. 
The winter storm rages around the sum- 
mit, while the quiet plains below are 
carpeted in summer's verdure. These 
plains are certainly the most delightful 
rations in South America. Vegetation 
springs up with a rapidity of growth 
that is perfectly marvellous ; and the 
Vol. IV.— 5. 

harvest is perennial. Egypt, the an- 
cient granary of the Roman empire, 
furnishes no parallel in fecundity to this. 
In one field the corn is just peeping 
from the ground, while in another it is 
ready for the garner. On the moun- 
tain tops is everlasting winter, but here 
reigns perpetual spring. Tarma is a 
beautiful place, situated in a valley, and 
embosomed among trees and flowers.. 
A green lawn stretches out in front, 
while the mountains that rise on either 
side are covered with waving fields of 
barley, nearly to their tops. 

Although this is a remarkably heal- 
thy place, yet Herndon gives it as his 
opinion that a young graduate of med- 
icine from the U. S. could go there, 
marry a pretty girl in high standing, 
and get into a practice that would en- 
rich him in ten years. Hearken, ye pa- 
tientless and pennyless students of JEs- 
culapius ! 

The regions watered by the " King 

ef Rivers" produces more wild animals 

than any other country on the globe. 

Cattle and horses browze on the endless 

pampas ; the woods swarm with game,. 

and the rivers are stocked with fish 


turtles and alligators. Here is found 
the black tiger, the ant-eater, the sloth, 
the fish-ox, the anta, or wild cow, the 
•boa constrictor, the anaconda, and birds 
of all shapes and sizes, and of the most 
brilliant plumage. Here also is found 
the mysterious gymnotus and electric 
eel, together with insects of the stran- 
gest forms and gayest colors. It is 
difficult in a few lines to give an ade- 
quate idea of the extent of the animals 
found here. 

The population is very small com- 
pared with the richness of the country.. 



Some of the first class people are wealthy 
and intelligent, but the majority are ig- 
norant and indolent, and aspire to no- 
thing beyond a rude existence. The 
more educated have schools in which 
the boys are drilled in Latin grammar, 
and the girls in butterfly accomplish- 
ments. ' They are polite and agreeable 
in their manners, and are full of gayety 
and life. In the mountains where fuel 
is scarce they dance and play romping 
games till bed-time, thus dispensing 
with the necessity of fire ; — a decidedly 
merry way of spending cold dreary 
evenings. North American midship- 
men used to say that it was the height 
of their enjoyment to dance with these 
girls. Lieut. Gibbon thus handsomely 
describes the young ladies about the 
Capital of Bolivia. " The beauty and 
grace of the ladies here cannot be doubt- 
ed. They are naturally gifted with a 
pleasing flow of conversation, are keen- 
sighted and witty.' Their bright black 
eyes flash beneath an irresistable and 
modest smile. Their long black hair is 
neatly arranged when abroad, but at 
home it hangs plaited over their shoul- 
ders. Their motions are slow and stea- 
dy ; and they show their snow-white 
necks and graceful figures to advan- 
tage." They receive with modesty 
compliments from their beaux, and 
when addressed speak out and to the 
point, answering serious questions af- 
firmatively. Such girls, I trow, would 
not be " wall flowers " even in this un- 
gallant place. 

The Indians, once masters of this 
whole continent, now exercise but little 
influence in its political aftairs. Many 
savage tribes have maintained their in- 
dependence, while others have been sub- 

dued and enslaved. These are mild 
and submissive to the powers that be, 
and view with philosophical composure 
all changes in the affairs of government. 
Some of the Indian girls are decidedly 
beautiful ; — of clear complection and re- 
gular features ; black eyes, black hair, 
perfectly white teeth, hand and feet ex- 
quisitely shaped, and of a most perfect 
figure. Gibbon says they would make 
neat house keepers. 

The Amazon is a majestic river. It 
discharges six times as much water as 
the Mississippi, and is one hundred and 
eighty miles wide at its mouth. The 
island navigation that this rive/ and its 
tributaries afford is immense, being es- 
timated at fifty thousand miles, and the 
extent of the basin has been computed 
to be about two-fifths of South Ameri- 
ca, or two millions of square miles. The 
capacities of this country for yielding 
the comforts and luxuries of life are 
inconceivably great, yet the ignorant 
and selfish policy of Brazil would rather 
suffer it to remain in a state of nature, than 
to open the Amazon to free navigation. 
We have secured the right of trading 
in the Peruvian tributaries, but Brazil, 
in violation of a principle of internation- 
al law,-has forbidden us to make any 
attempt to ascend that river. If she 
could be induced to throw off the re- 
strictions, happy would be the result. — 
The valley would unfold its giant pow- 
ers, foreign capital would flow in, the 
clumsy river crafts would give place fo 
the symmetrical steamers, the wilder- 
ness would brighten with glories of 
growing grain ; and cities that might 
eclipse the wealth and grandeur of an- 
cient Thebes or Rome would spring up 
on its banks. 



Lieut. Maury's investigations of the 
currents of the ocean show that the 
trade of this river must pass by our 
very doors. A cork thrown into the 
Amazon will float through the Gulf of 
Mexico, along the gulf stream, and will 
pass close by Cape Hatteras. Vessels 
are driven in this same channel. Hence 
it is ttiat we of all others should be most 
interested in the free navigation of this 
river, for ours will be the lion's share of 
the advantages. " The greatest boon," 
says Herndon, " in the wide world of 
commerce is the free navigation of the 
Amazon and its confluents. This roll- 
ing stream and its magnificent water- 
shed, would start up, at the touch of 
steam and the hand of civilization, into 
a display of industrial results, that 
would indicate the valley of the Ama- 
zon to be one of the most enchanting 
regions on the face of the earth." He 
continues with enthusiasm ; — " Had I 
the honor to be mustered among the 
statesmen of my country, I would risk 

political fame and life to have the com- 
merce of this noble river thrown open 
to the world." 

When this is done, we will no longer 
have to exclaim with Byron : 

" Strange that where nature meant to trace, 
As if for gods, a dwelling place, 
There man, enamored of distress, 
Should marr it into wilderness." 

Then will this country offer induca- 
ments more flattering and substantial to 
the aspiring and adventurous youth 
than California or Australia has ever 
presented. The plantations and cities 
that crown the Mississippi present a 
scene of life-stirring industry and hap- 
piness ; but what imagination can pic- 
ture the brilliancy with which the fu- 
ture will dawn upon this river, whose 
capacities are so inconceivably great. — 
May the time soon come when these 
hidden resources shall be developed for 
comfort and happiness of the human 
race ! ALMON. 


Before I saw your lovely face, 
Beheld your beauty and your grace, 

Begard tor woman was to me 
A dull, a cold lormality, 

What made my pulse beat quick and warm, 
When first I saw your beautious form t 

What makes my heart fair maid to be 

Awake or sleeping still on thee? 
Is it because your face is fair ! 

Is it your smile is kind 1 
No gentle, it is because 

I see the beauties of your mind. 





We hope ere long to present to our rea- 
ders a somewhat full sketch of the life and 
times of Gov. Caswell — a sketch more 
worthy of the high merits and conspicuous 
position of the man, and shewing his con- 
nection with the public events of his day, 
and the influence he exerted on their di- 
rection and movement. To the rather 
meagre outline given below, we have ap- 
pended a number of letters from various 
persons, never before printed. Some of 
them ihrow light upon various pablic trans- 
actions in which he was engaged, or upon 
points connected with his history, which 
have been matters of uncertainty, or at 
least of question; and some of them relate 
to his private and domestic affairs — in re- 
gard to which very few documents, we re 
gret to say, have been preserved. We have 
arranged th 3m all in chronological order, as 
being on the whole, and for all purposes, the 
most convenient. We should perhaps add 
that the letters are printed as exactly as 
possible, even in spelling and punctuation. 
It is worthy of remark that those of Gov. 
Caswell which were written in circumstan- 
ces of the deepest anxiety, as on the eve 
of battle, or after a disastrous defeat, pre- 
sent the same bold, untrembling hand, and 
all evidences of coolness, as those written 
in his most deliberate moments. 

Richard Caswell was born in Ma 
ryland, August 3d 1729. In 1746 he 
was induced by unsuccessful mercantile 
speculations of bis father, to leave his 
home and seek his fortunes in the theu 

colony of North Carolina. Bearing let- 
ters to Gov. Johnston from the Govern- 
or of Maryland, he soon received em- 
ployment in one of the public offices. 
Subsequently he was appointed deputy 
surveyor of the colony, and clerk of the 
County Couru of Orange in 1753. 

He finally settled himself in Dobbs, 
(now Lenoir) county, where he married 
Mary Mackilwean, who bore him one 
son, William. He afterwards married 
Sarah, the daughter of William Heri- 
tage, an eminent attorney, under whom 
he had studied law. He had obtained 
a license and practiced the profession 
with great success. In 1754 he was 
chosen a member of the Colonial As- 
sembly from Johnston county, which 
he continued to represent till 1771. In 
this and the preceding year he was 
made the Speaker of the House of Com- 
mons. He was also Colonel of the mili- 
tia of his county, and, as such, com- 
manded the right wing of Gov. Tryon's 
forces at the battle of Alamance, May 
16th 1771. 

In 1774 he was one of the delegate* 
to Congress, with William Hooper and 
Joseph Hewes, and was continued in 
this office in 1775. In September of 
this year, having been appointed Trea- 
>urer for the Southern district of N. C. 
he resigned his seat in the Congress.- 
On the 27th of February 1776 he com- 



manded at the battle of Moore's Creek, 
in which, with the minute men from 
Dobbs, of whom he was Colonel, in con- 
junction with others from Craven, John- 
ston and Wake, and those from Wil- 
mington under Col. Liliington, in alb 
about one thouspnd, a complete victory 
•was gained over a large party, some 
eighteen hundred, Loyalists, chiefly 
Scotch Highlanders from the upper 
Cape Fear, under Gen. McDonald. The 
loss of life in this action was not great, 
but the influence it had upon the for- 
tunes of the war in the South was of 
the highest moment. It prevented the 
intended junction of the Loyalists of 
the colony with a large military and na- 
val force which was designed to co-ope 
rate with them under Sir Henry Clin- 
ton, and had been sent to the Cape Fear 
for that purpose. Had the junction 
been effected, the Tories would have 
been in the ascendant in North Caroli- 
na, and the royal power re-established 
there ; communications between the col- 
onies north and south of it would have 
been cut off, and a most favorable base 
line have been secured for operations 
against Virginia and the North. The 
estimate formed by his contemporaries 
of Caswell's merits in this affair is clear- 
ly shown in the Resolve passed by the 

i Provincial Congress on the 13th of 
April, "That the thanks of this Con- 
gress be given to Colonel Richard Cas- 

' well, and the brave officers and soldiers 

'under his command, for the very essen- 
tial service by them rendered thiscoun- 

try at the battle of Moore's Creek ;" — 

and by the further fact that on the 2 2d 

•f the same month, the same body ap 

pointed him " Brigadier General of the 

!' Militia for the district of Newbern." In 

November of the same year he was cho- 
sen Presidentof the Provincial Congress, 
which framed the Constitution of the 
State, and was elected the first Govern- 
or under it. This office he held during 
the stormy and perilous period of 1 777? 
1178 and 1779. He refused to receive 
any compensation for his services. 

The General Assembly, which was 
held at Newbern in April, shewed in 
several acts their reliance on his varied 
and eminent abilities. They established 
a Board of Trade, at the head of which 
they placed Gov. Caswell, and associa- 
ted with him Robert Bignal, a merchant 
of Edenton, and Benjamin Hawkins, 
" for the express purpose of carrying on 
a trade for the benefit of ibis State," 
and authorizing them "to do all things 
they may deem necessary for carrying 
on the said trade to the best advantage.' 
In an act, passed at the same session^ 
'' for granting an aid to the State of So. 
Carolina,!' after ordering a levy of four 
thousand men, and empowering Gov. 
Nash to call out, for that purpose, as 
many more, in case of need, they say, 
"and be it further enacted, that Rich- 
ard Caswell, Esq., be, and he is hereby 
constituted and appointed Major Gener- . 
al, to command the aid hereby ordered 
to be raised, as well as all the militia 
belonging to this State now in service, 
who shall be entitled to the same rank, 
pay, and subsistence, as a Major Gener- 
al in the continental army, on a sepa- 
rate and distinct command." The terms 
of this commission made him comman- 
der in chief of the militia of the State, 
and though his friendly relations with 
the Governor were not interrupted there- 
by, might have proved an offence to 
that magistrate hardly less than the ap- 



pointment of the Board of war, or the 
institution of the Extraordinary Council. 

In the same year he led the troops of 
North Carolina, under Gen. Gates, and 
was engaged in the disastrous battle at 
Camden. In 1782 he was chosen speak- 
er of the Senate, and Comptroller Gen- 
eral, and continued to discharge the du- 
ties of both offices till 1*785, when he 
was again elected Governor of the State, 
which station he held in 1786 and 1787. 
The Assembly of 1787 elected him a 
delegate to the Convention which was 
to meet at Philadelphia in May of that 
year, to form a Federal Constitution, and 
conferred on him the extraordinary pow- 
er, in case of his inability to attend, to 
select his successor. William Blount 
was selected by him, and his name is 
appended to that instrument. In 1789 
he was elected Senator from Dobbs 
county, and also a member of the con- 
vention which, in November ratified the 
Federal Constitution. When the Gen- 
eral Assembly met, he was chosen spea- 
ker of the Senate. But his course was 
run. His second son, Richard, had been 
lost on his passage by sea from Charles- 
ton to Newbern, and the father certain- 
ly entertained the opinion that he had 
been taken by pirates and carried to Al- 
giers, or murdered. This and other 
events threw a cloud on his mind from 
which he seemed never to have recover- 
ed. While presiding in the Senate, on 
the 5th of November, he was struck with 
paralysis, and after lingering speechless 
till the 10th, he expired, in the sixtieth 
year of his age. His body was, after 
the usual honors, conveyed to his fami 
ly burial place in Lenoir, and there in- 

As a statesman his patriotism was 

unquestioned,his discernment was quick? 
and his judgment sound ; as a soldier, 
his courage was undaunted, his vigilance 
untiring, and his success triumphant. 

The following notice of the public 
mourning at the decease of Gov. Cas- 
well, is taken from the " State Gazette 
of North Carolina," for Dec. 3d, 1789 : 

Fayetteville, Nov. 16. 
Extract from the Journal of the Senate, 
Friday, Nov. 6. 

The House met, when Mr. Blount in- 
formed that his Honour the Speaker 
was so indisposed as to be incapable of 
attending the duties of the chair : — 
" Whereupon, it was proposed, that a 
Speaker be appointed pro tempore ; and 
on motion, Mr. Charles Johnson was 
unanimously chosen." 

Tuesday, Nov. 10. 

Mr. Bloodworth informed, that the 
Honorable Richard Caswell, Esq., had 
departed this life. 

Whereupon, on motion of Mr. Blood- 
worth, seconded by Mr. Skinner, Charles 
Johnson, Esq., the Speaker pro tempore, 
was unanimously chosen speaker of this 
House. Ordered that the following 
message be sent to the House of Com- 
mons : 

Mr. Speaker and Gentlemen: This 
House having received information of 
the decease of the Honorable Richard 
Caswell, Esq., their late Speaker, pro- 
pose that a joint committee be appoint- 
ed to direct and conduct the mode and 
order of his interment, and have ap- 
pointed on our part; for this purpose, 
Mr. Blount, Mr. Skinner and Mr. Blood- 

Received from the House of Com- 
mons the following message : 

Mr. Speaker and Gentlemen: This 



House have received the message of 
your's containing the information of 
the much to be lamented death of your 
late speaker, and concurred with your 
proposition for a committee to direct 
the mode of his interment, and have 
aprjointed Mr. Davie, Mr. Stokes, Mr. 
Thomas Blount, Mr. Lock, Mr. Hawkins 
and Mr. PersoL, a committee on our 
part for this purpose. 

Wednesday, Nov. 11. 
•Mr. Blount, from the committee ap- 
pointed to conduct and direct the mode 
and order of burial of the corpse of the 
Honorable Richard Caswell, Esq., late 
speaker of this House, delivered in the 
following, which was agreed to, viz : 

The Clergymen and Doctors precede the corpse. 

The Corpse. 
The relations of the deceased as chief mourners- 

The members of the Senate, two and two. 
The members of the House of Commons, two 
and two. 
The Governor and Secretary of State. 
Treasurer and Comptroller. 
Clerks of the General Assembly. 
Other persons attending, two and two. 
" That the General Assembly go into mourning 
one month." 
The deceased being the Most Wor- 
shipful Grand Master of the Grand 
Lodge of the Most Ancient and Honor- 
able Fraternity of Free and Accepted 
Masons, the officers and members of the 
Grand Lodg«, and the officers and mem- 
bers of the different Lodges present, at- 
tended the procession in their Masonic 
dress and order. The pall was suppor- 
ted by six members of the Grand Lodge, 
who were also members of the General 
Assembly, and all the usual ceremonies 
and forms were duly observed. The or- 
der of procession was strictly attended 
to, and closed by a very respectable and 
numerous body of citizens. 

This gentleman was a member of the 
first Congress, in the year 1775 — wa 8 
the first Governor under the present 
Constitution, and at all times since, when 
the Constitution would permit. He 
came early into the Legislature, and 
was thirty -five years in successiou a 
member, except when he was in the 
more honorable station of Governor,and 
ever ranked among the first of patriots 
and best of men. 



Alexander Martin. 

Behold, the Patriot's fled, 

He's numbered with the dead ; 

The mortal' part is clay, 

Himself is winged away. 
The distant orbs that crown the night 
Have set bounds untdftis flight, 
Far, far, beyond yon azure sphere, 
No more again to meet us- here. 

Ye patriot bands lament!" 
He oft before you went, 
When hostile British foe 
Essayed your overthrow. 

He ranged your ranks in martial pride, 

When British foe stretched far and wide. 

Great was his honor, great his fame ; 

Nought now remains but Caswell's name. 

Let solemn music sound ! 
No firmer friend was found ; 
No threats could make him yield, 
Nor terrors quit the field. 

Ye maidens fair, lament his death ! 

For you he wove the laurel wreath; 

He saved you from outrageous wrong ; 

Rehearse his name in solemn song. 

Well versed in the laws, 
He saved the poor man's cause ; 
Oppression hid its head 
When he the action led. 

No more will he be seen to stand, 

Beheld by the admiring band ; 

Protecting truth, convicting wrong, 

For now he's joined the angelic throng. 



Let Carolina's dales, 

Her mountains and her vales 

On Caswell's name reflect ; 

His memory reaped. 
First independent chief by law, 
Oft freeman you his greatness saw, 
Honor and fame did on him wait; 
Justice and truth adorned the seat. 

Ye sons of ancient day 

Tour chief is gone away. 

No more will obscure night 

Obstruct his wandering sight. 
For you remains his Tomb to raise, 
Formed on virtue's lasting praise, 
And real worth which shall endure, 
When Sun and Moon are both obscure. 

The Will of Governor Caswell was 
dated July 2d 1787 ; from which it ap- 
pears that of his brothers, Samuel, Ben 
jamin and Martin, the former was al- 
ready dead, as were his two eldest sons, 
William and Rigfeard. His wife, Sarah, 
was then living, as were of his children, 
Winston, Anna, who had married — 
Fonville, afterwards Mrs. White, of Ra- 
leigh, Dallam, John and Susannah. Of 
these sons, Dallam was the only one 
surviving so late as July 20th 1779. 

Philadelphia, May 11, 1775. 
My Dear Son : By a Gentleman 
Bound to Tar river, I now write to in- 
form you, that after I parted with you 
at Halifax, Mr. Hewes and myself pro- 
ceeded on our journey, as follows : Sun- 
day evening we arrived at Petersburg, 
in Virginia, where we met the express, 
with an account of a battle between the 
King's troops and the Bostonians, the 
next day we crossed James' river and 
lodged at Hanover Court House, where 
we had an account of 1500 men being 
under arms to proceed to Williamsburg, 
in order to oblige Lord Dunmore to re- 
turn some powder he had taken out of 

the magazine and lodged on board of a 
man-of-war in James River, what was 
done in that matter we have not since 
heard, the next day we were constantly 
meeting armed men, who had been to 
escort the delegates for Virginia on 
their way towards this place, we lodg- 
ed that night at Port Royal, and were 
only two or three hours after the Vir- 
ginia gentlemen, the next day we got 
down toPotowmack side before the boats 
returned that had carried the Virginians 
over. Here were part of the militia of 
these counties under arms and in the 
uniforms of hunting shirts, they received 
us and conducted us on the return of 
the boats to the water's edge with all 
the military honors due to General Of- 
6cers. We then crossed the river and 
learned at the ferry on Maryland side, 
that a company of Independants in 
Charles county Lad attended the Vir- 
ginia delegates, from thence under arras. 
We pr»©eeded and overtook them at 
port Tobacco, where indeed the Inde- 
pendasts made a most glorious appear- 
ance. Their company consisted of 68 
men, beside officers, all genteelly drest 
in scarlet and well equiped with arms 
and warlike implements, with drum 
and fife. Sentinels were placed at 
the doors and occasionally relieved 
during the time we stayed there. The 
next morning we all set out together 
and were attended by the Independant3 
to the verge of their county, where they 
delivered us to another company of In- 
dependants in Prince George county,they 
in like manner to a second, and that to 
a third, which brought us through their 
county. We lodged that night at 
Marlborough, and the next day *hough 
we met with a most terrible giv light- 
ning, thunder, wind, hail aD' 1 ;n, ar- 



rived at Baltimore, at the eutrance of 
which town we were received by four Iu- 
dependant companies, who conducted us 
with their colors flying, drums beating, 
and fifes playing to our lodging at the 
Fountain Tavern, (Grants.) 

The next day we were prevailed on 
to stay at Baltimore, where Col. Wash- 
ington, accompanied by the rest of the 
Delegates, reviewed the Troops. They 
have four Companies of 68 men each, 
complete, who go through their exerci- 
ses extremely clever. They are raising 
in that town three other companies 
which they say wWl soon be full. We 
were very genteelly entertained here in 
the Court House. The next day we 
breakfasted at my old master Haynes', 
and dined at Susquehanah, crossed the 
river and lodged at the Ferry House. — 
As I had in some measure been the 
cause of the Virginia gentlemen going 
round the Bay by recommending that 
road, and being the only person in com- 
pany acquainted with the road, I was ob- 
liged to keep with them T so that I did not 
cad on any of my relations. I sent George 
in to Jos. Dallams, where he left the let- 
ters I brought for our Friends, and was 
informed, my Grand Mother and all 
friends were well, except Mr. Dallam, 
who has been poorly some time. The 
next day we got to Wilmington, where 
we fell iu with several of the Maryland 
delegates, and came all into this city to 
dinner on the 9th instant. Yesterday 
the Congress met agreeable to appoint- 
ment, and this day it was resolved that 
they enter upon the consideration of 
American grievances on Monday next. 
Here a greater Martial spirit prevails, if 
possible, than- 1 have been describing in 
Virginia and Maryland. They have 28 

companies complete, which make near 
2000 men, who march out to the Com- 
mon and 2 - o through their exercises twice 
a day regularly. Scarce any thing but 
warlike musicis to be heard in the streets. 
There are several companies of Quakers 
only, and many of them beside enrolled 
in other companies" promiscuously. T : s 
sayed they will in a few days have 3000 
men under arms, ready to defend their 
liberties. They are raising men in New 
York and all the Northern Governments. 
The Yorkers, I am told by their Dele- 
gates are detei mined to defend their lib- 
erties, and since the action between the 
Kings troops and the Provincials scarce- 
ly a tory is to be found amongst them- 
I herewith enclose you a paper in which 
is a list of the killed and wounded of 
King's tro< ps. But tis said this is not 
genuine, a much greater number being 
actually killed. On the side of the Bos- 
tonians 37 were killed outright, 4 are 
missing, and I forget the number of 
wounded, I think thirty odd. Thus 
you have the fullest account I am able 
to give of these matters, and as the ac- 
count is so long 'twill not be in my 
power to communicate the same to any 
other of my countrymen and friends, 
but through you; you may therefore re- 
member me in the strongest manner to 
youi uncles, Capt. Bright and others of 
my particular friends, Show them this 
letter, and tell them it will be a reflec- 
tion on their country to be behind their 
neighbors ; that it is indispensibly ne- 
cessary for them to arm and form into 
a company, or companies of Independ- 
ants. When their companies are full, 
68 private men each, to elect officers, 
viz : a Captain, 2 Lieutenants, an En- 
sign and subalterns, and to meet as of- 



ten as possible and go through the ex- 
ercise ; receive no man but such as can 
be depended on, at the same time re- 
1 ject none who will not discredit the 
company. If I live to return I shall 
most cheerfully join any of my country- 
men, even as a rank and file man, and 
as in the common cause. I am here 
posed to danger ; that, or any other dif- 
ficulties, I shall not shun whilst I have 
any blood in my veins, but freely offer 
it in support of the liberties of my coun- 
try. Tell your uncles (the Clerk and 
Sheriff,) it may not be prudent for them 
so far to engage, yet awhile, as to risk 
the loss of their offices, in any company. 
But you, my dear boy, muse become a 
soldier, and risk your life in support of 
those invaluable blessings, which once 
lost posterity wilf never be able to re- 
gain. Seme men, I fear, will start ob- 
jections to the enrolling of companies, 
and exercising the men, and will say it 
will be acting against Government. — 
That may be answered that it is not so. 
That we are qualifying ourselves, and 
preparing to defend our country, and 
support our liberties. I can say no 
more at present, but that, may God Al- 
mighty protect you all, and his blessing 
attend your good endeavours, is the ar 
dent prayer of my dear child. 

Your affectionate Father, 


Mr. William Caswell. 

P. S. Only show this letter to such 
as I have described above, and don't let 
it be copied. Consult Capt. Bright, &c. 

Newington, Thursday, 12 o'clock, ) 
18th April, 17 76. j 
My Dear Son : — I am just returned 
from Halifax, where I procured an Or- 

der for the discharge of our Troops, a 
Copy of which I enclose you. I, assist- 
ed by some of our Friends, tried to get 
you and Benj. Williams promoted to 
the Rank of Captain in one of the new 
Regiments to be raised, to no purpose, 
as the Congress determined every offi- 
cer should rise in the Regiment only 
that he was first appointed to, by which 
means your venturing first into the ser- 
vice of your Country hinders your pro- 
motion. Capt Bright has resigned. — 
Capt. White is appointed Major of the 
Second Regiment, so that there are 
two Captancies Vacant, Mr. Fenner and 
Mr. Herritage ought to fill them, but 
whether that will be the case or not, I 
know not, you will be best able to Judge 
according to this way of settling rank 
whereabouts you will be, and whose 2d 
Lieutenant, which I suppose is as high 
as you can expect to be. You will also 
be informed that many young Lads who 
come now into Service as Captain and 
Lieutenants will rank before you. Now 
whether will you Tamely Submit to be 
thus treated, or will you resign and 
come home to planting ? I leave it to 
yourself; if you come home How will 
you dispose of the Men ? 1 have sent 
to find John Herritage out but can't 
learn where he is, or what he will do. 
If you are ordered by a Superior Regu- 
lar Officer to deliver the Men, or Join 
the 2d Regiment' there, I suppose you 
must do it, but if no such Orders you 
had better March them toNewbern with 
the Craven Men, and Assist in getting 
the Artillery along, this I suppose may 
be done by a Sergeant, and you come 
up here by Tuesday night, as I purpose 
to set out for Halifax Wednesday morn- 
ing, and would wish you to go with me 



where you may either resign or know 
where you are to go, and with whom, 
you have not engaged your Men for 
any Regiment, therefore are at Liberty 
I think to turn them over where you 
can, with their Consent, elsewhere I 
would not. You may, if you will, Com- 
pleat the Company. I suppose out of 
the Militia as £3 is directed to be Advan- 
ced, and 40s Bounty, I will eend you 
some Money by Dukey, but don't let 
this keep you longer, if you can Avoid 
it, than Tuesday night; if you do not 
come, either let Dukey or some one else 
come express to me by that Time, if 
Captain and Lieutenant Cobbs both 
come away Mr. Kennedy,Mr. Cox or Mr. 
Ingram will take charge of the Waggon, 
pray see that all my things are Secured 
in it — if you or Mr. Herritage are to 
stay at Cape Fear, you might keep the 
Tent, Cot, Table and Chairs with a 
Case, However, this I must leave to 
you, in which, prudence I hope, will di- 
rect you, we are all well, if I don't 
see you, let me hear any News you may 
be possessed of — give my Compliments 
to Capt. Cobb and his Kindsman ; let 
them know I expect they will be at 
Kingston by Tuesday night. I there- 
fore write nothing to them, but refer to 
Col. Bryan and Capt. Daly. 
I am, dear Billy, 

Your affectionate, 
P. S. John Herritage says he will 
not go into service again under his for- 
mer commander. 

I send 50 bills of 2 Dollars, 100. 
50 half Dollars, 25. 

50 quarter Dollars, 12 1-2. 

Camp, Thompson's Creek, S. C. ) 

Make £55. 

137 1-2 

3d August, 1780. 
Dear Sir : Generals Rutherford and 
Gregorys, Brigades are now Joined at 
this place, three miles below the Che- 
raw Hill. We shall march to-day to- 
wards Camden ; expect to Join Gen'l 
Gates with the Maryland line, and per- 
haps Gen'l Stevens, with the Virginia 
Militia, in our Rout thither. We have 
about 100 British prisoners in Camp 
some of whom are unable to march ; 
such as are I shall send immediately 
to Hillsborough under the care of Capt. 
(?) John Arnold of Randolph county, 
there to be disposed of as your Excel- 
lency shall think proper, The others 
I have written to Col. George Hicks of 
this State to take care of. We have al- 
so a Considerable number of Tory pris- 
oners some of whom are Capital offend- 
ers and subjects of No. Carolina's of the 
District of Salisbury these on account 
of the insufficiency of the Gaol at Salis- 
bury we shall be obliged to march un- 
der the care of our Marshall Guard un- 
til we have an Opportunity of putting 
them under the Care of some Western 
Militia on whom we can depend. I 
cannot give your Excellency any further 
intelligence than what I communicated 
in my Letter by Mr. Neale. The enemy 
I am told are posted at Linches Creek, 
on the Road between this and Camden 
about forty miles from Here where I 
suppose they mean to make a stand 
if they do I hope we shall be able to 
give a Good account of them. 

I promise myself the pleasure of Wri- 
ting you by some Gentlemen who go 
in to the Assembly, and flatter myself 
(it will be) from Camden. 



I have the Honor to be with the ut- 
most respect and esteem, 
Dear sir, your Excellency's 

most ob't and very humble serv't, 
Gov. Nash. 

S. C. Camp, Near Anderson's, ) 
30 miles W. of P. D., 
August 5, 1780. 
Dear Sir : I cannot omit so good an 
Opportunity, (by Col. Long,) of writing 
you, tho' I have little information to 
give you since my letter of the 3d in- 
stant, by Capt. Arnold, whom I sent to 
Hillsborough with 34 British prisoners. 
We are now thirty miles troin the 
Cherraws on the Camden road waiting 
for Gen. Gates's coming up with the 
Maryland line, he will be with us in a 
few Hours, 14 miles from hence (Lynches 
Creek,) the enemy have a post and I 
am told intend to meet us from thence 
or wait our Arrival and give us Battle. 
Their Strength we cannot get an exact 
account of, our information is from 700 
to 2900. It the latter is true, I imagine 
they have Collected their whole force, 
out of Charles Town, where 'tis saved 
they have not more than 1000 men, 
they have also several Bodies of Tories 
on the branches of Lynches Creek and 
from thence 'tis thirty miles to Camden, 
aMaj>rDavie of Mecklenburg has had 
two Small Skirmishes within a few days 
past with the Tories near the Catawba in 
which he was successful — That we shall 
be so I trust, if we come to Action our 
Men, though worn down with fatigue 
and in some Measure want of Bread, are 
yet in Spirits, and I flatter myself will 
behave well on Tryal. Some Gentlemen 
of the Army will come in to the Assem- 

bly by them, if in the Land of the living, 
I promise myself the pleasure of giving 
you a more Satisfactory Account, you 
will guess my situation when I inform 
you that we have been for twenty Hours 
in full expectation of each Hour's pro-. 
ducing an Action I do not Sleep, of 
Course I am not well, But with great 
regard and Esteem, I have the honor to 

Dear sir, your Excellency's 
Most Obedient and very 
Humble servant, 


His Excellency Gov. Nash. 

Salisbury, Aug. 19, 1780. 
Dear Sir : I am persuaded that you 
have been before this or at least will 
before this reaches you, be informed by 
General Gates, who went on two days 
ago towards Hillsborough of our unfor- 
tunate defeat by the enemy near Cam- 
den the 16th inst. I shall therefore not 
trouble you with the particulars on this 
unhappy affair. On my arrival at 
Charlotte I immediately issued orders 
for the Scattered Troops to repair to 
that place, and for those who were in 
our rear at the Time of the defeat, to- 
wit, Seawells from Halifax, Jarvis* 
from Edenton, and Pasteurs from New- 
bem to march also to Charlotte, I have 
likewise called on all the militia in the 
Counties of Rowan, Mecklenburg and 
Lincoln to assemble to-morrow at the 
same place, They are gathering fast, 
and I make no doubt we shall make a 
formidable Camp in a few days. 

Our people in the panick were so lost 
to their own Security and the Service of 
their country as to throw away their 
Arms and Catridge Boxes it therefore 



becomes necessary that the Arms lately 
sent out of Virginia, purchased by Maj. 
Eaton, should be sent to Camp, I 
bad some Time ago wrote to Col. Long 
to send them to Hdbborough where I 
hope they are and you will order them 
directly on if they are not there, I flat- 
ter myself you will be pleased to send 
immediately to Halifax and direct them 
to be sent forward with a Ton of Lead. 
Yesterday I dispatched Dr. William- 
son, from Charlotte, with a Flag to the 
British Camp in order to obtain a List of 
the killed wounded and prisoners of 
our unhappy Country men and to assist 
the Wounded, if they allow him to stay 
for the latter purpose, he has two 
Light Horsemen with him by whom I 
expect a return in a few days, when I 
will Communicate the same to your Ex- 

I am to be at Charlotte again to-mor- 
row in the neighborhood of which place 
I shall endeavor to form a Camp and 
•when I have collected such force as I 
possibly can, will put them under pro- 
per Command and come in to the As- 
sembly unless it shall appear that my 
presence with the Army is absolutely 
necessary or your orders prevents it 
Having Lost all our public and private 
Stores,I shall have to take the Field with 
only my Blanket without a Tent or any 
Camp necessaries, my Constitution will 
not Support me long in that Situation 
and my present weak State of Health 
with the Fatigues I am daily obliged to 
undergo, will soon render me unfit, for 
any command and I fear Gen. Ruther- 
ford is Killed or Captured, Butler and 
Gregory are missing, Gregory's Horse 
was killed under him, Rutherford re- 
ceived a Wound in his thigh, But I 

saw Butler in the retreat, since which 
I have heard nothing from him, I will 
endeavor to find him out and if he is 
Living and able to take Charge of the 
Troops, give him the Command 
when Heave them. 

If your Excellency does not find a 
Sufficient number of Members to Consti- 
tute the General Assembly at Hillsboro' 
I submit to you the propriety of ap- 
pointing a meeting of that Body at this 
place where the greater No. of the 
Members belonging to the Army could 
Attend and where the State of matters 
Relating to the Army could be with 
greater Certainty — and precision under- 
stood, if no Assembly meets, Certainly 
your Excellency and Council will re- 
pair here. 

I hope the Steps I have taken in call- 
ing out the Militia will meet your ap- 
probation and that of the General As- 
sembly, as you may assure yourselves 
that nothing would have enduced me 
to have pursued such a measure but the 
Security of the Country. 

I beg leave to refer you to Major 
Spaight who will deliver you this for 
any particular information which has 
not been given you by Gen. Gates. 

I have the Honor to be with verr 
great respect and esteem 

Your Excellency's most obed't 
[And very humble servant 


His Excellency Gov. Nash. 

Hillsborough, Sept. 10th, 1*780. 
Dear Sir : *I had the pleasure to 
receive your favour, dated the 15th ill- 

* To the letters of Gen'l Caswell in relation 
to the battle of Camden, and immediately sub- 



time, and am much obliged for the in- 
telligence communicated. I anxiously 
hope some important blow will be struck 
to the Northward that may compensate 
for our misfortunes in this part of Amer- 
ica. Our prospects here a month ago 
were as favourable as could have been 
wished — You know, sir, the requisition 
of Congress for specific supplies, did not 
arrive in this State till after the rising 
of the Assembly in May, — of course 
we had nothing to depend on (as to 
magazines, &c.) but the provisions sup- 
posed to be laid up by the Continental 
Commissaries, and our State money — 
the latter, all your staff officers have 
been supplied with, to an amazing 
amount, and yet the army has been dis- 
tressed greatly for want of regular sup- 
plies- — However, sir, we had in this res- 
pect nearly overcome all our difficulties, 
waggons had been collected, the new 
crops of wheat were begining to come 
in, beef had got in good order, the se- 
cond draft of militia had been drawn 
out, and were forward on their march 
to head-quarters ; many waggons load- 
ed with spirits were also on the road 
and near camp : And in order to pro- 
vide effectually against any future wants 
of the army, I had appointed a meeting 
of the General Assembly at Hillsboro,' 
on the 20th ultimo ; on the other hand 

sequent events, we have concluded to append 
a letter from Gov. Nash, and another from 
Orondates Davis to Willie Jones, then* a mem- 
ber of the Continental Congress at Philadelphia. 
Mr. Davis was shortly afterwards appointed a 
member of the Board of War. His associates 
were Alexander Martin and John Penn. These 
letters will dissipate, to some extent the obscu- 
rity in which the most important events of that 
disastrous battle field have hitherto been involv- 

the enemy had given up to us, the rich 
country of Pee Dee, and had retired to 
Camden, where they were in the deep- 
est distress, with sickness, and the want 
of provisions and forage. Having thus 
in a manner insured the safety of this 
State, and part of South Carolina, and 
having got into the midst of that plen- 
ty on Pee Dee, which the enemy had 
before been enjoying, everything indi- 
cated the most successful and happy 
conclusion of the campaign, when un- 
fortunately it was determined to march 
directiy on thro' the desert country, be- 
tween Pee Dee and Camden, and to at- 
tack the enemy, whose numbers were 
unknown, and thereby put to the risk 
of a single battle, all the advantages we 
had obtained, as well as the sure and 
certain prospects «of future Success we 
had in view. As might have been fore- 
seen and dreaded, so it turned out — 
the militia harrassed with hard march- 
es, over a sandy, barren desert, and be- 
ing attacked by the enemy in the night, 
six miles from Camden, on ground they 
had never seen, lost their spirits and 
got into confusion. At this period, how- 
ever, the army might have been saved ; 
they only retreated about five or six miles 
to Rugsby's Mills where I am told, a post 
might have been taken of perfect security 
— instead of this, th«y were drawn up for 
battle, and remained so till day light, 
when the enemy began the attack on 
our left, where the Virginia militia were 
posted ; these broke, on, and partly be- 
fore the first fire, our militia next in the 
line followed their example as far on as 
to General Gregory's brigade, who 
bravely stood to the last and pushed 
bayonets, after their ammunition was 
exhausted. On the breaking of the left 



wing of our line, the enemy rushed for- 
ward in pursuit, until they were checked 
(as they very handsomely were) by the 
brave General Smallwood and his corps 
of reserve; — he fought and retreated, 
and the left of our standing troops be- 
ing now entirely exposed, they were at- 
tacked in flank and rear, as well as front; 
however by their superior bravery they 
effected a good retreat, but unfortunate- 
ly no post had been assigned to retreat 
to in case of accidents, nor were there 
any provisions laid up any wherein the 
rear, so, that the men had to make their 
way as they could through the country, 
each man and little company of men 
taking what route they thought best. — 
In short, sir, in half an hour from the 
begining of the action, our army was 
annihilated, and the cannon, baggage 
and provisions deserted and left in the 
hands of the enemy, all of which might 
have been saved, had a stand beeu made 
as it safely might at the Waxsaws, or 
even at Charlotte, — In the Opinion of 
many gentlemen of rank and knowledge 
a surer stand might even have been 
made at Rugsby's — It is confidently 
said, that one hundred men might ef- 
fectually have stopt the whole British 
Cavalry at that post, by which our bag- 
gage might have been saved, and our 
- men preserved from slaughter ; had the 
I General even stopt at Salisbury, the 
i evil might have been mitigated, but by 
the precipitation of his journey to Hills- 
borough and the particular circumstan- 
ces of it, the militia ran home, the reg- 
ulars were without orders, the country 
were struck with consternation, and all 
seemed for a time to be given up for 
lost; — Happily for us Col. Williams of 
Sbuth Carolina, two days after this de- 

feat, with 200 men engaged 400 of the 
British cavalry in a fair open field fight, 
and completely defeated and routed 
them — they killed 63 on the spot, and 
took 70 odd prisoners, mostly British. 
This very fortunate stroke by shewing 
the enemy, that we had still men in 
arms, made them cautious and fearful 
of advancing aud encouraged the coun- 
ties of Mecklenburg and Rowan to as- 
semble and make head at Charlotte. — 
And here, sir, let me add, tuat too 
much honor cannot be ascribed to Gen- 
eral Smallwood; it was he who checked 
the enemy in some measure and cover- 
ed the flight of the militia, who other- 
wise would have been cut to pieces ; 
and it was he who bravely with a hand- 
ful of his troops, made the first stand at 
Charlotte and encouraged the militia 
to defend their country ; — he with the 
whole of the Maryland line, left, is at 
present here, by the order of General 
Gates, they amount to upwards of *700, 
which, with above 200 regulars, (arri- 
ved here Yesterday )from Virginia,make 
the whole of our Continental force, and 
how long they are to remain here I 
know not, for the General says, they 
must be completely refitted with clothes, 
tents and blankets before he will move 
them. — The Virginia militia are mostly 
gone home, by the last accounts from 
General Stevens in Guilford, he had on- 
ly about 120 men — 1200 of our militia 
of the second draft under General Sum- 
ner, are gone to Salisbury — about 1000 
militia of the upper counties are assem- 
bled there and at Charlotte, and in 
about five days hence 1200 fresh men 
will march from this district for the 
westward. In short, sir, we are for the 
present left pretty much to ourselves 



for the defence of this State, in want of 
•waggons, horses, magazines of provision, 
arms, ammunition, tents, and blankets; 
and a great portion of the interior part 
of the country against us, at the same 
time I have the pleasure to assure you, 
that our zeal and spirit rises with our 
'difficulties, drafts are nearly at an end, 
our men yield to the necessity of the 
times, and turn out to service wish wil- 
ling hearts: We are blessed with plen- 
tiful crops, and with proper laws resour- 
ces may easily be drawn forth for the 
defence of the country. As the Assem- 
bly is now sitting, and have not closed 
the bills, I cannotgive you any satisfac- 
tory account of them, but will do it im- 
mediately after their rising. The ene- 
my have evacuated Georgetown, Since 
their departure Col. Giles of South Car- 
olina has marched into that place, and 
possessed himself of a quantity of ammu- 
nition and salt, which they left — 150 
of the Maryland troops, taken in the 
late action, have been retaken on their 
way to Charlestown, by Col. Maryon 
and his party of volunteers. By the 
last accounts the enemy had not moved 
ft'om Cambden, but were preparing to 
move, but whither we do not know. — 
Should they attempt to penetrate the 
upper parts of the country, I have 
no doubt the militia will make it a 
troublesome business to them — No- 
thing could be so seasonable and 
fortunate to us as the appearance of aid 
on the sea coast. This would effectual- 
ly draw their force to Charlestown, and 
would give those in South Carolina, 
lately styled tories, an opportunity of 
taking arms against their present mas- 
ters, which you may be assured they 
vould do, for the insult and oppression 

they have lately endured, has entirely 
cured them of their fondness for the 
f3ritish Government. The Enemy's force 
to the southward is estimated here at 
about 2500 men including sick and 
those wounded in the late action. 

With the greatest esteem and regard 
I .remain, dear sir, 

Your obed't and very 

Humble servant, 

To Willie Jones. 

Halifax Town, Sept. 27, 1780. 
Dear Sir : Already you are acqaint- 
ed with the blow we received near 
Camden on the 16th of August, and I 
suppose of Col. Sumpter's Surprize two 
Days after This indeed was entirely 
owing to the most stupid carelessness, 
and both happening as it were together 
left us for a while without the shadow 
of an Army ; it was in truth a little 
staggering, however by vigorous and 
repeated exertions and from the for- 
bearance of the Enemy, we are again in 
a situation to make a stout defence ; if 
not to offend in some parts. Our whole 
Regular Force amounts to about 900, in- 
cluding 250 under Col. Beauford late- 
ly from Virginia, they are all at Hills- 
borough, and will not be able to move 
I fear, under six weeks, depending upon 
this Slate for supplies of all kinds — 
Tents, Clothing,Provisionsand Wagons, 
«fc*. we have about 2000 Militia at 
Charlotte, and at least 1000 more will 
be there in a few Days. They are all 
pretty well armed, but badly accout"ed, 
at this place, from the motions of the 
Enemy, it is thought they will endeavor 
to enter this State ; we are also about 
establishing a pretty strong post at 



Mask's Ferry on Pee Dee, near An- 
son Court House ; your Brother March- 
es, on Saturday, with about 700 Men 
from this District for that place. 

The Enemy's principal Post, I believe, 
is at the Waxaus, about 40 Miles from 
Charlotte, and I think I can venture to 
affirm, that they have as yet no post in 
our State, — To counterpoise in a small 
Degree, these accumulated Evils, a Col. 
Williams of South Carolina, three Days 
after Gates' Defeat-, fell in with a party 
of the Enemy, near 96, and gave them 
a compleat drubbing — killed 70 on the 
spot and took between 60 and 70 pri- 
soners, mostly British, with the loss of 
four Men only this you may depend 
on ; another favorable incident is, that 
150 of the Maryland Troops, who were 
made Prisoners on the Day of our De- 
feat, were retaken on their way to 
Charlestown near Santee, and on Sun- 
day fortnight John Kimbro' and his 
Party at Mask's Ferry were totally rout- 
ed 17 of iim Men killed and 14 taken 
Prisoners, and Hot our Prisoners re- 
leased — Gen. Smullwood by a Resolve 
of our Assembly is requested to take the 
Command of our Militia, he has agreed 
so to do, Gen. Sumner Commands a 

Our loss in Gates' Defeat and Sump- 
ter's Surprize, is about F 300 killed, and 
about 600 taken Prisoners, including 
perhaps 50 Officers ; Baron Decalb a- 
mong the former ; Gen. .Rutherford, Col. 
Geddy and Col. Lockhart among the 
latter : The enemy lost about 250 kill- 
ed upon the Field, Some say a good 
many more, — here I suppose I may say 
something respecting the prevailing Opi- 
nion of our General's conduct, not that 
I mean to pass strictures, or throw un- 
Vol. IV.— 6. 

deserved Censure on his Character, hav- 
ing no pretensions to military knowl- 
edge myself; there are three Capital 
Errors generally ascribed to him : First, 
in not Ordering a place of Rendezvous in 
case of a Defeat, secondly in not having 
the Baggage secured it remaining all 
the while with the Army, and thirdly 
in quitting the field of Action some 
time before the Regulars gave way and 
riding post to Hillsboro' 230 Miles in 
about 75 Hours, he is indeed execrated 
by the Officers, Unrevered by the Sol- 
diers and hated by the People of this 
State, in short, Officers, Soldiers and 
Citizens have lost all Confidence in the 
man and wou'd esteem it a happy cir- 
cumstance cou'd he be recall'd or mov'd 
away from the Command in the South- 
ern Department, — I had forgot to men- 
tion to you in the former part of my 
Letter, that Col. Sumpter about a fort- 
night before our Defeat gave the Ene- 
my a very genteel flogging at the hang- 
ing rock, Kill'd about 150, on the spot 
with the loss of only about 30 of his. 
Men, we were indeed successful in skir- 
mishes during the whole summer. 

Our Assembly met at Hillsboro' on 
the 20, of Aug. and pass'd some Acts 
among the rest, an Act for Levying 
Specifick Provision supplies ; an Act 
for Establishing a Board of War, and 
an Act for Establishing a State Loan 

In and about Halifax People have 
been uncommonly sickly this Season, a 
good many died, your Brother lost his 
Son Robin last week, H. Montfort lost 
his son Joseph Saturday last and on 
Sunday old Mrs. Montfort died, — your 
little Son Hal has had the Ague and. 
fever, but is now pretty well recover'd, 



your little Daughter is well, nothing I 
believe uncommon has happened in the 
course and Management of your Do- 
mestick affairs. 

Hoping that you and Mrs. Jones are 
in Health I remain Dear Sir with the 
highest respect and Esteem Your 

Obedient and Humble Servant 


P. S. Mr. Hill will be pleased to ac- 
cept of my Friendly respects and Com- 

Hon. Willie Jones, Esqr. 

Newbern, 23d of Feb., 1181. 
Major General Caswell will march 
the detachment of Militia now assem- 
bled and assembling to Halifax or to such 
other part as the motions of the 
Enemy or the exegency of the public af- 
fairs may require — he will also take such 
measures for posting these as well as the 
militia of Halifax District in such manner 
and Fortify in such places as he shall 
deem best for the public security— he will 
*also take such order respecting the mili- 
tia in Hillsborough and the other wes- 
tern Districts as shall seem expedient 
— The General will also upon his arri- 
val at Halifax call on the other mem- 
bers of the Council extraordinary to 
meet and he -will pursue such further 
steps as may be concluded on by the 
said Council for the further operations 
of the militia against the enemy — Gen- 
eral Lillington having the command of 
the militia in the District of "Wilming- 
ton and there being no occasion for 
the presence for any other General offi- 
cer there — Brigadier General Caswell 
will serve in the army to the westward 
and take his orders from the Major Ge^ 
neral, who will also commission the of- 
ficers for the Lt. Horse corps in such 

(agreeable to the resolve of the Gen'' 
Assembly) as he shall deem best for 
the public service. 

The General will endeavour to have 
Gen'l Butler supplied with amunition 
as speedily as possible and he is earnest- 
ly requested to send forward with dis- 
patch any important intelligence he may 
receive respecting the motions of the 
Enemy. A. NASH. 

Newbern April 17, 1 "781. 

Sir : I rec'd yr favour with the en- 
closures — and am obliged to you for 
them the stores from this place goes off 
to-day have written to Edenton to have 
all sent off from that place, we have no 
intelligence except that of Ld. Cornwal- 
lis's being in Wilmington with his ar- 
my, as this place may shortly be an ob- 
ject, I think it prudent to move away — 
I expect to leave town to day and shall 
go for Tarbero — I think it w'd be ad- 
visable in you to move y'r family and 
negroes as soon as possible. I wish to 
see you at Tarboro or Halifax and am 
with the greatest esteem Dr. Sir, 
Yr. obt. servt. 


Hon. Maj. Gen. Caswell Kingston. 

Dr. Sir : This moment came in Capt. 
Ashe who Informs me that L. Corn- 
wallis' Troops is on their march for 
Kingston Halifax and Edonton, so he 
bas heard from good authority. I wish 
you would send of by Expresses, to Gen. 
Butler and others, in hast I am sr, yr, 
Very Humble serv. 

Camp at Limestone Bridge. 

April 25, '81. 

11' it is certain they are over the 

Hon. Maj. Gen. Caswell Kingston 



Newberst, April 28, 1781. 
Dear Sir : By a Letter from Gen. 
LilHngton dated the 25th at night I am 
advised that Ld. Cornwallis with his 
Army had crossed the N. E. at the Oak 
and were in their march towards King- 
ston — in consequence I have ordered 
Gen. LilHngton to repair to Kingston and 
have ordered the Troops assembling 
here to repair to that place — Baron 
Glowbeck was sent last evening to 
obtain certain intelligence of the En- 
emy with orders to return first to 
Kingston — I shall be glad you would 
receive his intelligence and desire him 
to proceed down here — and I am also 
to desire that you would send an ex- 
press to Gen. Jones with the Letter the 
bearer will deliver — the Letter is to or- 
der the militia of Halifax, all that can 
can be armed to march immediately to 
Tarborough — I beg you to send me any 
news you may have obtained. 
I am Dr. Sir 

Yr. obt. servt. A. NASH. 
Gen. Lillington complains violently 
of not being relieved I wish you to 
send Gen. Caswell to take the Com- 
mand. A. NASH. 
Maj. Gen. Caswell. 

Philadelphia, 1st Dec. 1784. 
Dear Sir: Notwithstanding a vio- 
lent pain in my right arm which pro- 
ceeds from a Rheumatism that has con- 
fined me to my room ever since my ar- 
rival, I cannot be restrained from con- 
gratulating you on your late Honorable 
appointment be assured Sir this Infor- 
mation which I received yesterday gave 
roe sensible pleasure and brings strong- 
ly to my remembrance the three years 
of Happiness the Citizens of our State 

enjcyed under your former Administra- 

Messrs. "Williamson and Spaight are 
at Trenton they write me that 7 States 
convened the day before yesterday that 
a 'President will not be chosen until 
more States are represented, an adjourn- 
ment to this place or New York will then 
I presume take place, the accommoda- 
tions at Trenton are not sufficient. I am 
pretty certain they will not stay there. 

Col. Spaight went to Germantown 
the other day and bespoke a Phaeton, 
he was so obliging as to procure ma 
the cash prices of Carriages from Mr. 
Bringhurst a celebrated Workman,from 
the advantage of living cheaper there 
than they can in this City he is always 
lower in his prices than they are here, 
they are as follows : 

A Phaeton - - £no this Curr'y. 
Post Chaise and 
Harness for 4 horses 200 
do do 2 do 190 
Box for the driver adds 20 to the price. 
Coach and Harness 
for 4 horses 270 

do do and Box 290 
these are his lowest Cash prices. 

If you should choose one Sir I shall 
be happy in attending to the buildiog 
and forwarding it to No. Carolina. 

We have no news in the City but 
that Trade is in a ruinous state the mer- 
chants can't make remittances they are 
failing in Europe and failing here Cru- 
ger of Bristol failed for £300,000— and 
after being elected a member of Par- 
liament for that City was refused a Seat 
because he had taken an Oath of Alle- 
giance to the United States while in 
America last year. 

I shall be happy to hear from you 
Sir when leisure will permit in the mean 



time give me leave to subscribe myself 
your most obed't and Hum. Servt. 
His Excellency R. Caswell, Esq. 

Fairfield, Jan. 27, 1785. 
' My Dear Friend : Your favor of this 
day I received am truly distressed on 
the Account of your family and self — 
Remember My dear friend they are the 
first Fruits to God, Billy died the 
Christian full of hope of immortal Life, 
Dickey if numbered among the dead 
was a o-ood man and it would be wrong 
to suppose him otherwise than happy, 
the Lord gave them to you, lie it is 
that hath taken them away from the 
evil to come, to a State of everlasting 
Rest, let a due resignation to his hea- 
venly Will and a Zealous preparation to 
follow them be the part of their remain- 
ing Relations and Friends- Your matters 
at Pitt shall be attended to, Should I 
live to mourn the loss - of a man I so 
sincerely esteem No eare pains assist- 
ance or Advice to your Dear Family or 
Affairs would be Laborous or otherwise 
than An Act of Gratitude to the faith- 
fullest of Friends — Mrs. Glasgow Sim- 
pathizes with her good Friend Mr. Cas- 
well having experienced the loss and 
felt the pangs of Seperation of three 
lovely Children before her May the 
Great Creator, who never does wrong, 
Sanctifie Your Afflictions and may they 
Work for you an exceeding and eternal 
Glory is the fervent Wish of Your Sin- 
cere Friend. 


I send you the Portmantua the 
Boots, &c. 

Hon. R. Caswell. 

Newington, Feb. 18ih, 1789. 
Bear Sir : I had not the pleasure 
of receiving your favor of the 6th Cur- 
rent until this evening, if it had come 
to hand in Time for me to have waited 
on you at Greenville before your seting 
out from thence I certainly should have 
done so ; As young Mr. Markland who 
delivered me your letter informs me he 
sits out for Newbern early to morrow 
morning I intend this by him, for the 
purpose of inclosing you Mr. Stanly's 
order on Mr. Clay, the business men- 
tioned therein I beg the favor of you to 
negociate for me in the best maimer 
you can, if no payment can be obtained,, 
pray obtain a Seperate Certificate in my 
own name for my proportion as express- 
ed in Mr. Stanly's order and interest as- 
I have no other Cla : m but that and 'tis 
possible the whole may have been or 
may hereafter be drawn from the Geor- 
gia Treasury without my knowledge, if 
can dispose of the Debt for what you 
Judge from Circumstances on the Spot 
(in Georgia) reasonable in Cash pray do 
so, Or if you can Negotiate it for the 
purchase Money of our Tenesee Lands, 
if we are to have any, it will be agreea- 
ble to me — If I can find the Indian deed 
in the morning I will inclose it, pre- 
haps you may have an Opportunity of 
geting it proved and recorded, or it 
may be otherwise useful to you whilst 
in Georgia. 

I sincerely wish you an Agreeable 
Journey and happy return and am very 

Dr. Sir, Your Most Obed. Servant, 

William Blount, Esqr. 




It is a comir.on-place truth, that on 
the dissemination of education and gen- 
eral literature the present condition and 
the prospects of a nation in no small 
degree depends. But there is one 
branch of literature which deserves to 
be cherished and cultivated not only on 
account of its refining and entertaining 
nature, but especially because of its be- 
neficial influence on the character and 
destiny of a people, I mean National 

The manner in which this branch of 
literature operates is obvious. The vir- 
tues and faults of characters who figur- 
ed in the past may be observed and 
their effects noted. Experience of past 
ages may be brought to the solution of 
almost any problem, social, political or 
moral. The statesman, moralist or citi- 
zen has only to remember that the 
course of nature is uniform — that the 
same cause will produce a like effect — 
o% refer to the annals of the past and 
gain the best advice and instruction. — 
These remarks, however, regard history 
in general. National History has the 
same effects, as well as others of which 
general History is almost void, viz : its 
influence on the feelings of a people. 

No exercise of the mind tends more 
to keep alive a refined and devoted love 
of country than th?t of reflection on the 
history of one's nation. Tell the Bri- 
ton of the time when that paragon of 

heroism and generosity, Edward the 
Black Prince, while yet a boy of six- 
teen, repulsed the furious and repeated 
onsels of an o'erwhelming French army 
the bloody field of Cressy — tell him how 
nobly, the victorious Wolfe perished be- 
fore Quebec — tell him Nelson fought 
and fell — remind him that at Waterloo 
his countrymen withstood the skill and 
bravery of the greatest soldier the world 
ever saw — tell him all this and you will 
awaken in his bosom the warmest emo- 
tions of patriotism and self-denial and a 
determination never to suffer a decline 
of that national glory his ancestors have 
acquired. The people of the Nether- 
lands can never become slaves as long 
as they remember that to acquire their 
independence their forefathers had to 
contend for half a century with the ty- 
ranny, power and bigotry of Spain. — 
The French can never cease to be a 
warlike people while they remember 
the names and exploits of Conde, Colig- 
ny, and Napoleon ; and before the 
Swiss can become a nation of cowards 
they must forget Tell, they must forget 
Winkelreid, they must forget that in 
the middle ages the Swiss arms were 
the glory of their friends and the terror 
of their foes. 

One of the great bulwarks of the Bri- 
tish nation is the fact that a knowledge 
of the nation's history is so general 
among the people — a fact whose influ- 



ence extends deep into the literature, 
politics — arts and sciences of the nation. 
The names of Wolsy, Pitt and Fox still 
have indirectly a material influence on 
the politics of the British statesman. — 
He is guided and stimulated by the ex- 
ample of those who have gone before ; 
he strives to combine the glory of the 
past and avoid the rocks on which the 
split. Bacon and Locke are the bright 
beacons of the English philosopher ; 
and although he cannot hope even to 
rival their reputation, he may admire 
and wonder at the superhuman intel- 
lects that achieved such revolutions in 
science and cleared such clouds of igno- 
rance and superstition from around the 
temple of Truth, he may take courage 
from their example and hope to bear at 
least some slight resemblance to those 
great men. 

In literature especially the past is 
giving its impress to the future. It 
seems that in its infancy almost every 
nation produces models in the various 
pursuits of life. Shakespeare, at an 
early period of English literature, rais- 
ed the English Theatre from a jesting 
house to be the resort of genius, taste, 
and beauty. Moliere and Racine did 
the same for the French Theatre, in an 
age when France was hardly an en- 
lightened nation. The sublime Epic of 
Milton was far in advance of his day. 
And now their productions not only 
immortalize their names, and delight 
and instruct millions ; they are the in- 
centives which draw from its conceal- 
ment many a brilliant mind to increase 
and perpetuate the hereditary fame of 
the nation. 

The decline of national greatness 
goes hand in hand with the decline of 

the cultivation of national history. — 
[The arts of sculpture and painting 
still flourish to some extent in Italy ; 
but it is merely because the works of 
Raphael and Angelo remind them of 
the superiority in this respect that once 
belonged to their country. But its 
days of civil and military glory are lost 
to the mind of its people. Philosophy 
and education have passed from among 
them, and the beautiful land of Italy, 
endowed with every natural blessing 
that could make man happy, is now en- 
thralled by the bonds of a despotic go- 
vernment and fanatical religiou. Had 
Italy supported a literature by which 
the history of the past would have been 
handed down and the lays and spirit of 
Tasso spread among her people, she 
never would have been reduced to her 
present abject condition, nor crushed by 
the beast of Babylon.] 

The present state of Spain furnishes 
us a melancholy example of a nation 
that has lost a knowledge of its nation- 
al history. Spain once had her days 
of glory, but she had no historian to 
record them nor literature to preserve 
and disseminate their memory. And 
all the Spaniards know of their former 
history is darkened by the shadow of 
the inquisition or stained by the blood 
of martyrs. Those sunny slopes, de- 
lightful vales and fertile plains which 
render Spain emphatically the El Do- 
rado of Europe. 

The Italians are not the only ones 
who suffer from the meagreness of Ita- 
lian history : all lovers of the curious, 
the romantic, the beautiful feel the ir- 
reparable loss. Even in the mystery 
which envelopes the history of Italy, a 
singularity is discernable which is wor- 



thy of deep study. The philosopher 
may fiud it interesting to inquire why 
the birthplace of law and letters is now 
overrun by anarchy and ignorance ; 
and the statesman may be improved 
and instructed by the brilliant, but ill- 
fated democracies that arose and fell in 
the middle ages — appearing the more 
glorious by being contrasted with the 
present fallen condition of the peo- 

Italy is now, and ever has been the 
home of romance. The effect of this 
is visible in the progress she has made 
in the fine arts. It is the romance of 
her religion that inspires her sculptors 
and painters ; it is from their past his- 
tory, obscure as it is that they draw ma- 
terial for the exercise of their genius. — 
Nothing can be more acceptable to the 
poetic mind than those romantic inci- 
dents in the Middle Age history of 
Italy — preserved by their very roman- 
ticness, and peering out, like brilliant 
stars in a stormy sky, from the general 
obscurity. Beatrice Cenci is but one 
of the many names that might have 
awakened genius, had they been pre- 
served. Her beauty is immortalized by 
the master-piece of Guido; her fate has 
been perpetuated by the brilliant trage- 
dy of Shelley ; and thousands of hearts 
are softened by the melancholy tale of 
La Cenci. 

" The land of the cedar and vine," 
These have all been witnesses of the 
chivalry and glory of ancient Spain — 
they have been enriched and ennobled 
by her noblest blood. But no history 
spread broadcast through the nation 
tells the modern Spaniard o£ these days 
of glory : no native historian teaches 
him to learn from his noble ancestors 

lessons of wisdom and patriotism. The 
only memorials of the past that rife 
among the people at large are legends 
of the terrible zeal of some holy father 
or the constancy and dreadful end of 
some detested heretic. National pride 
has long since been effaced from the 
character of that fallen people ; and this 
country that is so well adapted to liter- 
ature and the arts, agriculture manufac- 
tures and commerce now lies sunken 
deep in the quagmire of superstition 
and ignorance — the scorn of the world, 
yet unconscious of her degradation. 

When we consider these facts we are 
compelled to believe that the prosperi- 
ty, good name, and national character 
of a people are greatly influenced by 
the general diffusion of a knowledge of 
national history. And this being the 
case there is no citizen in any nation 
that better' deserves the name of an 
honorable and useful citizen than the 
historian. And although he may not 
receive the due meed of praise at pre- 
sent, future generations will do him jus- 
tice when they shall have drawn in- 
struction and advice from his labors. — 
Among the names that will be bright- 
ened but not corroded by the flight of 
time is, that of David Hume. Though 
he prostituted a brilliant intellect to the 
support of error, though he insulted 
reason and his maker by propagating 
an awful fallacy, yet, when time shall 
nave worn away the memory of his 
faults, the universal assent of mankind 
will concede to his name a place among 
those tnat were not born to die. When 
the majestic strains of Homer and Ma- 
ro shall have decayed like the heroes, 
that sung the works of Herodotus and 
Livy will still be adjudged woithy of. 



being written in gold. But of all pro- 
fane writers of antiquity, the greatest, 
the noblest, and the best, is Thucydides. 
In the writings of this great man there 
is a nobleness of tone, a deepness of 
wisdom, and a liberality of sentiment 
that render it eminently a book for all 
ages. Here is a storehouse from which 
the statesman and philanthropist may 
ever draw lessons of instruction. If there 
are any who admire the glory of the 
Grecian Confederacy and lament her 
melancholy downfall, to them let it be 
a source of regret that Thucydides arose 
too late. 

It has often been said that we of 
America have no history — that centu- 
ries must roll around and try their 
strength on our people and institutions, 
and then the American historian may 
chronicle the rise, progress and perma- 
nent grandeur, or the mournful fall of 
the nation. But let it be remembered 
that we began at the point which other 
nations have reached only after an ex- 
existence of ages ; and for this reason we 
are entitled to a history of a new and in- 
tensely interesting character. But apart 
from this consideration, there are facts 
and incidents connected with our na- 
tional career, that would form an impor- 
tant and glorious era in the history of 
any nation to prove this, we have only 
to point to the brilliant characters 
which crowd our history. No nation 
has ever had more enlightened states- 
men, purer patriots, braver soldiers or 
humbler christians than ours. Here is 
surely abundant material for a national 

There are in our land places conse- 
crated by their connection with noble 
deeds and characters ; and these belov- 

ed shrines have an influence on our 
condition important and happy beyond 
conception. Let the American visit 
Bunker Hill, or Liberty Hall, or Marsh- 
field, or Ashland ; and if his soul is not 
imbued afresh with feelings of grati- 
tude, patriotism and purity, then indeed 
may liberty tremble. But it is impos- 
sible to tread the spots once frequented 
by Jefferson, or Calhoun, or others of 
like greatness, and not feel in ones bo- 
som an ardent admiration of their ef- 
forts in behalf of their country and 

Among these shrines where Ameri- 
cans love to pour out their admiration 
and tears the holiest and best boloved 
is the resting place of Washington. — 
Deep in their heart of hearts it holds its 
place. The flowers that spring around 
his tomb seem to exhale a consecrated 
perfume. The air is touched by the 
calm spirit of peace. The very breezes 
that visit his tomb at eve seem to sigh 
a vesper anthem — a soothing requiem 
to the noble spirit whose dust there 
finds repose. 

-" Go to yon hallowed mound — 

Pale Freedom dwells a mourner there." 

And as the zephyrs whisper by 
They bring a million freemen's prayers, 
A million freemen's grateful tears 
As holy incense to that shrine 
The tomb of Washington. 

Long may Americans feel the holy 
influence of these holy places! Long 
may they continue to honor them with 
that purest of all offerings — the tea* ?f 
gratitude ! 



How many brains are racked, and vol- 
umes ransacked for Editorials? They 
are the mirrors in which the great and 
small are anxious to be seen, and seen, of 
course, approved. In the Editorial chair 
formality is dispensed with, and the world 
are considered as invited guest3, who must 
be handsomely entertained. 

These being the sentiments of every 
true son of the quill ; how can you, Oh, 
kind reader! pass by their honest efforts 
without even a glance over your shoulder ? 
or, oh, unkindest cut of all, turn up your 
nasal apparatus, as one who would come 
into an atmosphere of sulphuretted hy- 
drogen ; in common civility, you should 
appear as if you had observed nothing, 
like the honest John Ball when he passed 
the Duke of Buckingham. 

"We are almost daily amused at the 
strictures of not a few self-constituted 
critics, who, knowing the general rules 
with respect to Editorials, but not the ex- 
ceptions, often embrace a cloud for a Jove. 
And notwithstanding our "scruples," we 
cannot help enjoying their crest fallen 
state at the discovery that they have been 
unmercifully lashing some one whose 
merits the world have already acknow- 

An Editorial, therefore, is a species of 
literature not to be tampered with ; other 
and awful faces may be peering from its 
depths. Ye ready-made critics — take this 
to yourselves and consider your ways. 

We make the following extract from 
the "Pictorial Half-Hours." It may not 
be uninteresting to the readers and admi- 

rers of that incomparable novel, " Keni!- 
worth" : 

" Lnneham, a gentleman u.sher of Eliza- 
beth's court, who wrote a very curious 
account of the particulars of the visit of 
the Queen to her favorite Leicester, at 
Kenilworth, asks a question which in his 
giddy style he does not wait to answer or 
even to complete : ' And first, who that 
considers unto the stately seat of Kenil- 
worth Castle, the rare beauty of building 
that his honour hath advanced, all of the 
hard quarry stone ; every room so spaci- 
ous, so well belighted, and so high roofed 
within ; so seemly to sight by due propor- 
tion without, in day-time on every side so 
glittering by glass ; at night, by continual 
brightness of Candle, fire, and torch-light, 
transparent through the lightsome win- 
dows, as it were the Egyptian Pharos re- 
lucent unto all the Alexandrian coast,' — 
who that considers, (we finish the sen- 
tence) what Kenilworth thus was in the 
year 1575, will not contrast it with its 
present state of complete ruin 1 Never 
did a fabric of such unequalled strength 
and splendour perish so inglovionsly. — 
Leicester bequeathed the possession to his 
brother the Earl of Warwich for life, and 
the inheritance to his only son, Sir Robert 
Dudley, whose legitemacy was to be left 
doubtful. The rapacious James contriv- 
ed through the agency of the widow of 
the Earl of Leicester, to cheat the son out 
of the father's great possessions. The 
more generous Prince Henry, upon whom 
Kenilworth was bestowed, negotiated for 
its purchase with Sir Robert Dudley, who 
had gone abroad. A fifth only of the 



purchase money was ever paid ; yet upon 
the death of his brother, Charles took 
possession of the Castle as his heir. A 
stronger than Charles divided the Castle 
and lands, thus unjustly procured by the 
crown, amongst his captains and counsel- 
lors ; and from the time of Cromwell the 
history of Kenilworth is that of its gra- 
dual decay and final ruin. No cannon has 
battered its strong wall, 'in many places 
of fifteen and ten foot thickness ;' no turbu- 
lent soldiery has torn down the hangings 
and destroyed the architraves and carved 
ceiling of ' the rooms of great state with- 
in the same,' no mines have explored in 
its ' stately cellars, all carried upon pillars 
and architecture of freestone carved and 
wrought.' The buildings were whole, 
and are described, as we have just quot- 
ed, in a survey when James laid his hand 
upon them. Of many of the outer walls 
the masonry is still as fresh and as perfect 
as if the stone had only been quarried half 
a century ago. Silent decay has done all 
this work. The proud Leicester, who 
would have been king in England, could 
not secure his rightful inheritance to his 
son, undoubtedly legitimate, whom he had 
the baseness to disown whilst he was liv- 
ing. No just possessor came after him. 
One rapacity succeeded another, so that 
even a century ago Kenilworth was a 
monument of the worthlessness of a gro- 
velling ambition." 

The historian of Warwickshire has gi- 
ven us the ground plot of Kenilworth 
Castle, as it was in 1640, By this we 
may trace the pool and the pleasance; 
the inner court, the base court, and the 
tilt yard, Caesar's Tower and Mortimer's 
tower, King Henry's lodgings and Leices- 
cester's buildings : the Hall, the Presence 
Chamber and the Privy Chamber. There 
was an old Fresco painting, too in 1716, 
and is held to represent the Castle in the 
time of James I. Without these aids Ken- 
ilworth would only appear to us a myste- 

rious mass of ruined, gigantic walls, deep 
cavities whose uses are unknown, arched 
doorways, separated from the Chambers 
to which they lead, narrow staircases, sud- 
denly opening into magnificent recesses, 
with their oriels looking over corn field 
and pasture ; a hall with its lofty windows 
and its massive chimney-pieces still en- 
tire, but without roof or flooring ; mounds 
of earth in the midst of walled chambers, 
and the hawthorn growing where the dais 

The desolation would probably have 
gone on for another century : the stones 
of Kenilworth would still have mended 
roads, and been built into the cowshed 
and the cottage, till the ploughshare had 
been carried over the grassy courts — had 
not some twenty-five years ago, a man of 
middle age, with a lofty forehead and a 
keen, gray eye, slightly lame, but withal 
active, entered its gatehouse, and having 
looked upon the only bit of carving left 
to tell something of interior magnificence, 
passed into those ruins, and stood silent 
for some two hours. Then was the ruined 
place henceforward to be sanctified. The 
progress of desolation was to be arrested. 
The torch of genius again lighted up 
" every room so spacious," and they were 
for ever after to be associated with the re- 
collections of their ancient splendour. — 
There were to be visions of sorrow and 
suffering there too; woman's weakness, 
man's treachery. And now Kenilworth 
is worthily a place which is visited from 
all lands. The solitary artist sits on the 
stone seat of the great bay window, and 
sketches the hall where he fancies Eliza- 
beth banquetting. A knot of young anti- 
quarians, ascending a narrow staircase 
would identify the turret as that in which 
Amy Robsart took refuge. Happy child- 
ren ran up and down the grassy slopes, 
and wonder who made so pretty a ruin. 
The contemplative man rejoices that the 
ever vivifying power of nature throws its 
green mantle over what would be ugly in 



decay; and that in the same way, the po- 
etical power invests the desolate places 
with life and beauty, and when the mate- 
rial creations of ambition lie perishing, 
builds them up, not to be again des- 

The appearance of Kenilworth in its 
present dilapidated state is picturesque in 
the extreme. Much of it is covered and 
overhung with ivy and other clinging 
shrubs, intermixing their evergreen beau- 
ty with the venerable tints of the mould- 
ering stonework. The noble moat or lake 
as it might more properly be called, in the 
midst of which it once stood, and which 
in former times used to be stored with 
fish and fowl, is now almost dried up. But 
besides the hall already mentioned, vast 
portions of the pile are still standing in a 
dismantled state. The walls of th^ hall 
are perforated by a series of lofty windows 
on each side ; and spacious fireplaces have 
been formed at both the ends. Another 
remarkable part of the ruin is a tall dark- 
colored tower, near the eentre, supposed 
to have been built by Geffrey de Clinton, 
and to be the only portion now existing 
of his castle. Like many of the old for- 
tresses, both in this country and on the 
Continent, it has obtained the designati- 
on of Caesar's Tower, probably from the 
fancy that it was erected by that conque- 
ror. One of the gate houses, the work of 
the Earl of Leicester, is also still tolera- 
bly entire. The different ruins are still 
known by the name of Lancaster and 
Leicesters buildings, in memory of their 
founders. One portion is called king 
Henry's departments, being that in which 
it is said king Henry the Eighth was wont 
to lodge. 

A Yankee's Opinion of a French- 
man. — There, that's a Frenchman's opi- 
nion of a Yankee. Well, why not. Yan- 
kees have sketched the little, frog-eating 
critic in every possible view — looked at 

him upon every side, and after the most 
diligent and analytical examination, can 
scarcely discover enough of him to find 
fault with. He seems to be a compound of 
hair and harmony — whiskers and wit ; a 
sort of human eel, sleek and slippery, 
wriggling through life without any defin- 
ite purpose or advantage, either to the 
world or himself. His wrists are as small 
as his persistence, and his feet commensu- 
rate with his ethics; both are eternally 
shifting, though to do him justice, the for- 
mer are usually cleanest. 

He is a miniature of admirable manners 
and execrable morals, deifying vice and de- 
fying virtue ; volatile as vicious, and vain- 
er than all animate matter else. Never- 
theless, he is sober and frugal, and for all 
his madness he has a method ; making a 
bow, as he commits suicide — both for eclat 
and according to rule. He will do every- 
thing fur glory, but next to nothing for God; 
will cast his wife's best umbrella into a 
puddle to enable a strange woman to cross 
it dry footed, throwing the bridge away af- 
terwards, to show the fair one that he is 
too much of a gentleman to carry anything 
so soiled, and then allow Mrs. Crapau to 
plod through the rain for a twelvemonth to 
atone for the loss. He never chews the 
cud either of tobacco or reflection, wears 
unexceptionable coats and exceptionable 
underclothes, his shirt being ordinarily 
cleaner than his skin, puts on gloves as 
much from necessity as for fashion ; car- 
ries his hat under his arm, and his fortune 
on his back, and is altogether as curious a 
compound of cheap cosmetics, and less ex- 
pensive couTtesy as the world affoids. He 
labors, but it is to embelish rather than 
build : will paint lilies rather than plant 
them, and gild refined gold for the sake of 
greater gorgeousness. Were he condemned 
as was Sisyphus, he'd polish the stone be- 
fore he'd push it a foot, and failing to get 
it up on the first attempt would ingeniously 
cheat the gods, and devise self destruc 



True, Monsieur, the dimensions of Jo- 
nathan's feet are large : wherever he goes, 
Ills tracks are visible. See to yourself 
*'* Mon cher." Keep out of his way. — 
Should he tread upon you, the result might 
be more than a solid boot. 

Reader, — Do you not feel yourself ai 
times borne backward into the past ? — 
Scenes and objects long forgotten present 
themselves as the landscape to the poetic 
eye of Wardsworth — 

Southward the landscape indistinctly glared 
Through a pale steam. 

As if by the wand of an enchanter, your 
whole life is brought before you, and all 
that you are conscious of is a second view 
of a world gone by. Your past conscious- 
ness becomes a reality, until it is lost be- 
yond the borders of your existence. You 
find yourself once more in the present. It 
was a vision. Life is a vision. The 
thought startbs you ; but the vision affects 
you according to its character. If joyous, 
you would live "life o'er," if sad you 
would hide it with an impenetrable veil. 
The past will return to approve or con- 
demn. Why should it not sleep on the 
bosom of oblivion ? We speak not of the 
scenes which memory, influenced by the 



Streme : that flowest to the delters of the Miss- 

I hale the. I rise, that's what I wish yud do, 
On Wings of the mooses that are nine in num- 
You know — consekently I rise on eighteen 

wings' [ 
Of Posy and selute you ! Streme, ain't you 

Pie trete, but lawqur beer is not my liquor, 
Pie give bevrages of potry, I will, which 
Flo down Pharnasius. mooses 9 ! 
Grant me inspirashun to immortaliz the Ohie. 

Oh mooses 9 ! I thank you for a granting of it, 
Pm reddy now for singing sweet strains. 
Streme ! that risest somewhere in New York 

Whar they had elechun on Tuesday. I believe 
And likewise streme that cometh from the sun- 
ny south, 
Whar things was too sunny this summer, 
Recooperate thy waters, for Ohio needs it. 
Reco-operate thy waters, for the delters of the 
Mississip are dryer'n a barren desert 
Of the wilds of Afiky, or Sarah's sandy oasus. 
Let the cry be recooperate, 

Recooperate, till the d ms are 

Overfloed for puipose of letten nu steemrs 
And likewise many colebots pass over them, aro 
Like a gush of joy over a moderns heait 
Mooses I pause to thank the for that figger 
Which is originally likewise on be % of 
The ferry botes I cry recooperate, 
Flooid that taik men's senses where 

Ails you 1 Weel all be obedient subjects 
Ef youll only rain. Come down, old flooid ! 
Do, ah ! do, flooid, adoo ! 

will, recalls, nor of what is presented to . „ 

-v . , . . „ , I They micks it in with their brandy 

the mmd in a reverie : but of the unbidden Flomd that / called Ad _ m , g ale whai 

and too frequently unwelcome shadows of 
our past life. ~How solemn the considera- 
tion that they may be our reward ers or 
avengers, and what a strong motive does it 
present for a wise use of the fleeting mo- 
ments. If the past can affect us deeply 
with our present sensibilities, how much 
more if we assume a higher and progres- 
sive state of the soul. 

The following affords an exquisite con- 
trast to Byron's Address to the Ocean. — 
Read it. 

Noble Ohio now I cum to thee bein a cold 
Watter advocait, wy dont you hide your 
Bars. Wairhouses agroaning with bein 
Filled with projuice and manufacture and 
So 4th are a weepin on a count 
Of the steemr's stern wheal, steemrs 
1st class, steemrs big, steemrs little, 
Steemrs old, steemrs young— yes I 
May say steemrs of awl kinds air a sor- 
Rowfully moanin on thy shores. 
Rise,streeme of buty, and wash away their 
Teers— wash the hull of them and they shall 
Smoak their pipes with joi. 



Glorious streem farewell. My feelins, 
Is roat up, and my hart is full of potry 
"Which I can't express. Ef it was my dine in- 
junction, noble river. Ide whisper in extents 

Ohio wet your bed. Adoo, adoo. 

The Boston Transcript presents to its 
readers the following compilation 6f curious 
coincidents in the names and lives of the 
first seven Presidents of the United States: 
Washington, John Adams, Jefferson, Ma- 
dison, Munroe, John Quincy Adams, and 
Jackson. Four of the seven were from 
Virginina. Two of the same name were 
from Masachusetts, and the seventh was 
from Tennessee. All but one were sixty 
years old on leaving office, having served 
two terms^ and one of these, who served 
but one term would have been sixty-six 
years of age at the end of another. Three 
of the seven died on the fourth day of Ju- 
ly, and two of them on the same day and 
year. Two of them were on the sub-com- 
mittee of three that drafted the Declara- 
tion of Independence, and these two died 
on the same day and year, and on the an- 
niversary of the Declaration of Independ- 
ence, and just a half century from the day 
of the declaration. The names of three of 
the seven end in son, yet neither of these 
transmitted his name to a son. In respect 
to the names of all, it may be said in con- 
clusion, the initials of two of the seven 
were the same — and of two others that they 
were the same — and the initials of still two 
others were the same. The remaining one 
who stands alone in this particular, stands 
alone in the admiration and love of his 
countrymen, and of the civilized world — 
Washington. Of the first five, only one 
had a son, and that son was also President. 
Another curious fact may he mentionod in 
this connection. It is, that neither of the 
Presidents who had a son was elected for 
a second term. 

Ruth Hall. — Well done, Fanny Fern! 
We have read your book : and so serious- 

ly did we incline to its contents that we 
performed a feat equal to that of Sir Wm. 
Hamilton's, who read Carlyle's " French 
Revolution," at one sitting, and all this 
from no favorable impressions previously 
received. The book and the criticisms we 
have read on it, does not give us very ex- 
alted notions of the human species, at least 
that portnn of them among whom Ruth's 
lot was cast, But there are a few redeem- 
ing characters among them, such as our 
heroine, (alias, as some say, Fanny) Har- 
ry and Mr. Walter, and that precocious 
princess of puns and heart-breakers — 

The book is what it modestly pretends 
to be, not indee.l a novel, the denouement 
of which might give us worse than Fanny 
Fern headaches ; but a little herald from 
the real life " knocking unceremoniously'* 
at the door of our hearts, and finding rea- 
dy entrance. There is enough of the arti- 
ficial about it, however to shield it from 
the imputation of eccentricity. We are 
not to suppose that the ups and downs of 
Ruth were so beautifully regular as we 
find them here represented. A cloudy 
morning, above which the sun arose shed- 
ding light and love : then hiding his face 
and shining forth again with renewed 

But diawing the veil over these, touch- 
ing scenes, let us notice Fanny's excel- 
lence from another point of view. What 
an admirable satire have we on that class, 
who, under religious colors perform deeds 
ihat would reflect glory upon the synago- 
gue of Satan. Above all men, these should 
be lashed through the world with scorpi- 
ons, and pointed at as unclean things. — 
The satire too is rendered more pungent by 
taking advantage of the social position of 
the worthy representatives of this class. — 
But words would fail to express our admi- 
ration of the withering sarcasm with which 
she annihilates the tribes of dandies, fops, 
puppies and toads of which their days are 
so prolific, and all that in the person of 



Mr. Hyacinth. His character and Uriah I ly lean. He has already learned, perhaps, 
Heep's "umbleness" afford a strong conn the hollow-heartedness of the world, and 

trast, and the feeling excited by both is 
unqualified contempt 

The book is not free from faults, and we 
must confess to the discovery of an almost 
unpardonable one near the outset : but it 
is" the life story of many a one, and better 
written than many a one could have done. 
It is the outpouring of a heart whose foun- 
tains are by turns bitter and sweet. The 
Phrenological dissertation seems forced in- 
to the narrative, not unlike Horace, " Pur- 
ple Patchwork." Fanny must not think 
her readers so dull as to require a scientif- 
ic analysis of a subject so well dissected 
by herself, although on different principles. 
Perhaps the sage advice of Hyacinth to 
remain in obscurity, was wringing her bo- 
som, or a gentler sentiment may have been 
inspired by the gallant Editor. — Who 
knows ? 

" Man seeks the companionship, and 
delights in the society of his fellow man ; 
and when confidential intercourse, and 
unreserved communion is denied him, 
then he is unhappy. 

This principle is apparent in our every- 
day observations. We will not stop to 
inquire into its nature, but rather proceed 
to consider its effects, confining ourselves 
to college, as affording lively examples of 
its operation. 

True friendship is a mutual relation 
existing between parties, so that each 
must feel a reciprocal interest in the 
other's welfare. External shows of friend- 
ship, founded on self interest afford no 
real pleasure, nay, awaken disgust. There 
must be. then, one to share our joys and 
sorrows. If not, pleasure is unknown 
and life itself is a burden. The child, the. 
young, the aged feel this, and feel it 

In whatever circumstances man is placed 
it is natural for him, to seek a trus- 
ty friend, on whom he may constant- 

with this sad experience rankling in his 
bosom he cautiously examines his future 
friend's character. Step by step he mea- 
sures the depth of his confidence, until 
he is finally persuaded of his sincerity. — 
Then indeed, communion of heart and 
soul begin, they practice and enjoy sacred 
friendship ; whose offices and enjoyments 
are better than any description can por- 

But suddenly the destroyer snaps the 
golden cord. Some selfish interest draws 
him beyond the sacred circle ; and a bro- 
ken trust, a wounded heart drives him off 
further and further. The charm is dissolv- 
ed, and the world is hollow-hearted again, 
and well may the wretched forsaken ex- 
claim — 

' Ah, what is friendship but a name, 
A charm that lulls to sleep.'" 

The following was handed us by a 
friend, it speaks for itself, 

From the Raleigh Register Jan. 1, 1828. 

Ordinance adopted by the Board of Trus- 
tees, at their Annual Meeting, in this 

city, on the 19th instant. 

Be it ordained, &c. — That the dress of 
the Students shall be uniform and shall 
consist in Summer of a coatee, in colour, 
of a gray mixture, and of waistcoat and 
trowsers of white, and in wintei of coatee 
waistcoat and trowsers of a drak gray 

The use of boots is prohibited, and it 
is recommended to the students to consult 
plainess, economy and neatness in every 
part of their apparrel. 

Nothing in this Ordinance shall extend 
to the dress of the Senior class at com- 
mencement, nor shall it extend or apply 
to any student who shall have already 
provided or may hereafter, and before the 
beginning of the next session provide him- 
self with apparel according to an ordi- 



nance adopted in June last, at Chapel 
Hill, for which the above cited ordin ance 
is a substitute. 

Published by order of the 

Prisident of the Boai 

The Cape Pear Region. — We have 
often wondered that the peculiarities and 
beauties of the Cape Fear region were 
not more generally remarked and appreci- 
ated. Perhaps our associations, or it may 
be, our natural disposition has made us 
partial to this section of the State; but 
to us^itis a delightful, a lovely region. — 
Without the wildly sublime decoration of 
our western mountain scenery, or the ex- 
uberant fertility of the Roanoke, it pre- 
sents features of quiet, modest lovelines«, 
addressing themselves to the heart, rather 
than the imagination of every lover of na- 
ture. Rising amid the uplands of the in- 
terior it wends its way through many a 
varied scene of prosperity and beauty, 
and reaches the ocean at the Cape from 
which it derives its name, among the gold- 
en fields of luxuriant rice. Its whole course 
is bordered by large willow trees, whose 
long dark foliage kisses the waters as 
they glide on to the great ocean, a mourn- 
ful emblem of the fondness with which 
'We embrace the vanishing forms of happi- 
ness and hope. We hope that at no dis- 
tant day a suitable pen and pencil will do 
justice to this much neglected region. 

These thoughts were suggested by a 
visit in spring to the Raven Rock on the 
Upper Cape Fear. A vast rock covered 
with majestic pines and innumerable 
shrubs and flowers, projects far out over 
the river, whose yellow waves flow at a gid- 
dy distance below. Underneath this rock 
i are caves and columns that remind one of 
the Giants' palaces of the olden time. — 
) Here, no doubt the Indian often found re- 
fuge from tempest and heat; this may 
have been the place for the war council 
and the lover's meeting, and perhaps it 
has resounded with the red man's devo- 

tions to the Great Spirit as well as tho 
"whoop of the warrior. 

One of the minor tributaries of the 
Cape Fear waters, the most delightful re- 
gion we ever visited. The fertile valley 
that marks its course and spreads plenty 
among the industrious farmers, is bound- 
ed by sloping hills, which stretch back 
out until they are lost in the pine forests 
primeval. Homage is rendered the Eter- 
nal in a country church that Geoffrey 
Crayon would delight to picture. The 
people neither professing nor desiring 
those enervating luxuries which are com- 
mon in the more frequented walks of life, 
are upright, peaceful and happy. In this 
quiet spot, sequestered from the noi?e of 
the city and the cares of the world, where 
the mind may contemplate without dis- 
turbance the manifestations and attributes 
of the creator, the soul must become 
purer, the heart better. Hither, when 
wearied with the world, its vanities and 
cares, would we wish to retire, here in 
sweet seclusion to commune with our 
spirit and our maker, and cultivate those 
virtues that adorn the character of man. 
Here would we wish to repose when the 
soul returns to God who gave it, with no 
other sarcophagus than the greensward of 
this sunny vale — with no other eulogy 
than the tears of the pure minded inha- 

We beg leave to congratulate the 
friends of this Institution and the public 
generally, upon the recent election, held 
by the Dialectic Society for our next com- 
mencement Orator. Their judicious 
choice has fallen upon one, who in a few 
years will doubtless stand at the head of 
his profession, and occupy that position 
amongst the leading men of our State, to 
which his talents and corresponding qual- 
ities even now entitle him. Being known 
personally to the gentleman, we can say 
with safety, that we know of no one who 
could perform the duties of a Commence- 




merit Orator with more ability and taste I God in His mercy and wisdom has stricken 
than Mr. George Davis, of Wilming-l^ rorn our number Nicholas Y. Kelijst: one 


At the recent election, held in Girard 
JHall, Jan. 27th, 1855, the following Cora- 
'raencement officers were elected, viz. — 
'.Mr. James Bruce, of Halifax, Va., Mar- 
shal : he has appointed for his assistants, 
Messrs. Henry Bryan, Wm. H. Burwell, 
S. Caldwell and 0. Session. Messrs. L. 
Averitt, S. Green and J. Saunders from 
the Philanthropic Society, and T. Clark, 
J. Springs and N. S. Yarborough, from 
the Dialectic, were chosen as Ball Mana- 
gers. These gentlemen beg leave to say 
that as they think themselves remarkably 
handsome (1) and intend to have a splendid 
regalia all the way from New York, they 
will not appear "in public on the stage," 
for nothing. 

We have the pleasure of presenting to 
our readers an interesting sketch of the 
life of Richard Caswell, the first Gover- 
nor of North Carolina, under the consti- 
tution, illustrated by a portion of his pri- 
vate and public correspondence. The let- 
ters are printed precisely as they were 
written, the editor believing that, in no 
other way, could so faithful a portraiture 
of the man and the times be exhibited. — 
We hope in our subsequent numbers to 
be able to furnish similar sketches from 
competent pens, of Gov. Caswell's revolu- 
tionary successors, Nash, Burke and Mar- 

• Dialectic Hall, Chapel Hill, 

Feb. 21th, 1855. 
Again, and even while the shades of depart- 
ed spirits are still hovering over us ; while the 
grief-stricken heart still shrouds the brow of 
some in melancholy, and ere the voice of death 
has ceased to vibrate around our little altar, its 
lest dying note nowelmost lost in the distance 
is revived ; louder and yet louder grows each 
successive vibration, till at last death's solemn 
voice is in our midst. The word is spoken !— 

^who but a short time since, in the pride and vi- 
gor of youth, occupied a position in this Hall 
which all cannot reach, one who by his gentle 
and generous spirit fixed fast the affection of all 
who Mew him ; and whose nobleness of char- 
acter Mve promise of much in future : one 
whose whole lite was such, that the example left 
us is a soia'ce in the midst of our sorrowing, an 
example rich in its purity, and which must long 
linger in our arTections as in those of his rela- 
tives and the community who knew him ; nay 
more, an example which neither death's with- 
ering touch or the rude hand of time can obli- 

Therefore in view of such a character cut off 
in the very bud of life. 

Besolved 1st. That we have received with 
profound sorrow the melancholy tidings which ' 
now cast so dark a gloom over this body ; that 
while we bow in humble submission at the Will 
of the Mighty Judge who has seen fit to blot so 
bright a star from our galaxy, and while we 
mourn his loss in common with his kindred 
and many friends without this hall, we as mem- 
bers of this Society do deem it a more immedi- 
ate cause of sorrow. 

Besolved 2. That we hold in the brightest es- 
timation the many and pure virtues which 
adorned his character ; — that benevolence open 
to all — that urbanity of temper which so endear- 
ed him to all, that spotless integrity so bright 
even at the lamp's last flicker. 

Besolved 8. That we deeply sympathize with 
his widowed mother, brothers and sisters in the 
loss of so dear a son and brother, and that we 
mingle our sorrow with theirs, over that void 
which an Allwise Providence has made in the 
family circle, and which no earthly power can 

Besolved 4. That these resolutions be entered 
upon our records, that a copy be sent to the be- 
reaved mother of the deceased, and further that 
a copy be sent to University Magazine, Raleigh 
Register, Greensboro' Patriot, Peoples' Press, 
and Salisbury papers with a request to publish. 

N. A. BOYDEN, ) 

P. P. SCALES, V Committee. 



Vol. IV. 

APRIL, 1855. 

No. 3. 


IN 1850. 

Near five years have passed away 
since the incidents I am ahout to relate 
transpired, and yet they are as fresh 
and lively, as if they had happened but 

Indeed, so deep an impression is made 
by every incident and circumstance hap- 
pening to one while leading the wild 
nomadic life of a Californian, in her 
primitive days, that it would be a mat- 
ter of impossibility to forget the most 
trivial thing. 

Everything was then fresh and excit- 
ing ; nothing was done by halves ; all 
were eager in the pursuit of the one ob- 
ject — Gold; and all the comforts of 
home, and all that makes home dear, 
were for the time thrown aside. There 
vsas then no aristocracy of birth or 
wealth : no kid-gloved, white vested, 
bescented exquisite breathed in the pure 
air of California. The lust for lucre 
had levelled all distinctions of birth and 
for a time made the various elements of 
society one homogeneous whole, animat- 
ed by the same feeling and all moving 
in the same direction. 

Miserable then was the condition of 

the individual, who could not expose 

his delicate limbs to the scorching sun 

of a Californian summer; wrap himself 

Vol. IV.— 7. 

in his blanket and sleep comfortably 
during a long rainy winter night, and 
finally get up in the morning with a 
good temper and cook his breakfast of 
flatjacks and coffee. 

I say such a man was miserable, if he 
could not submit to all these hardships 
and not complain; miserable, if he could 
not pack a vicious mule, who would 
persist in kicking off its pack ; misera- 
ble, if he could not do almost any and 
every thing, however degrading it might 
have once appeared to his aristocratic 
eyes, for if he did not do it himself, no 
one else would take the trouble to do it 
for him. 

Such was the state of things in Cali- 
fornia, when, led away by the universal 
desire, I started, accompanied by one 
companion, from San Francisco for the 
mines. My companion, whom I shall 
call Charley, had been in the mines the 
year before and had made his "pile," 
but had unfortunately embarked in a 
speculation, and lost it soon after. 

As he was initiated into all the mys- 
teries of mining I gave him the com- 
mand of the party, and allowed him to 
provide all the mining implements and 
et ceteras, which could be procured in 
San Francisco. 



We provided ourselves with a small 
tent, blankets, provisions, arms and am- 
unition, and then got on board of one 
of the river steamboats and proceeded 
up the San Joaquin river to Stockton. 
At this place we purchased our mules 
and began to make arrangements to 
start far the mines, but, before we had 
completed our arrangements it began to 
rain and for three weeks it came down 

When we first arrived in Stockton, 
we had pitched our tent about one-half 
mile from the centre of the city, and 
during all this rain, we sat patiently 
therein, smoking our segars, fixing our 
packsaddles, and occasionally playing 
a game of euchre or monte, to while 
away the time. While here, we admit- 
ted a young physician to our party, who, 
though brought up in the most aristo- 
cratic circles of Virginia, and to use a 
homely expression, fed with a silver 
spoon, had been lured to California by 
the exciting reports. Better for him 
would it have been if he had never left 
the old Dominion State, for though a 
most agreeable companion in the tent, 
he was an almost useless appendage on 
the road, and in the mines ; for he could 
do almost nothing for himself or any 
one else. However, take him as a whole 
he was a capital fellow, and a pleasant 
addition to our party. After waiting 
patiently in our tent until the rain ceas- 
ed, and the brightness of the sun gave 
indications of the approach of dry 
weather, we packed our mules and start- 
ed on the road for the mines. The first 
day out from Stockton was one of cease- 
less toil and vexation. Our mules- hav- 
ing done nothing for some time were as 
wild and ill-natured as it was possible 

for them to be. Mine, especially, ex- 
celled in the art of kicking off her pack. 
I must say, though I have seen many 
expert mules since, she was the moat 
scientific mule in that particular I ever 
saw before or since. 

I had packed and repacked her for 
the third time that day, and at the last 
packing thought 1 had secured it be- 
yond'- the possibility of her unpacking 
herself; but, how are the hopes of man 
distroyed. Before we had proceeded a 
mile further on our way, she commenced 
kicking and in a few moments the pack 
was off and scattered all over the plain: 
a sack of flour in one place with the end 
bursted out by a blow of her malicious 
heels ; a tinpan in another, a shovel in 
another, a pickaxe in another, and beans, 
rice, and coffee all about in spots with- 
in the circumference of three acres. 

To make things worse, the road — in 
fact the whole plain, was very miry 
and our mules would frequently <ret 
stuck so tight, that we would have to 
unpack them before they could extricate 
themselves from their miry beds. Aud 
sometime we would have to take the 
provisions on our own backs and carry 
them long distances in order to keep 
dry. This may be pleasant to read 
about, but I assure my readers it was 
very unpleasant to experience ! When 
the shades of night began to descend 
over the plain, we halted, built our 
camp fire, wrapped ourselves in our 
blankets, and lay down underneath a 
tree, too tired to cook any supper. In 
a few minutes we were sound asleep, 
and nothing disturbed us during the 
night save the hovvlingsof the cayotes, 
or prairie wolves, with whom, however, 
we had become quite familiar during 



our residence in the suberbs of Stock- 
ton, as they had frequently purloined 
and appropriated divers fine pieces of 
beef belonging to us without saying as 
much as '' by your leave." 

The next morning, w«» repacked out 
mules and continued on our way, and 
at the expiration of three days arrived 
at Magnolumne Hill, the place selected 
for our debut. Our tent was now pitch- 
ed in one of the canons near the Hill, 
and we prepared ourselves for a season 
of uninterrupted success as miners. — 
Charley had assured us, that from bis 
knowledge of the locality we could not 
help finding a pile of the ore in a short 
time, and we so confidently believed 
him, that if any one bad hinted at the 
possibility of our uot finding at least 
one hundred thousand dollars each, dur- 
ing the ensuing summer, Ave should 
have been disposed to treat him as a 
maniac or a fool. 

Notwithstanding the brightness of 
our prospects, our hopes were doomed 
to be disappointed, for scarcely had we 
commenced operations, when we were 
astonished in the midst of our labors by 

* the commencement of another long spell 
of rainy weather ; for three weeks it 
poured down as it only does in Califor- 

• nia. The mountain streams scon be- 
came rapid torrents, our claims were 

^ all submerged by the water, and all 
mining ceased. The pickaxe and spade 

a were thrown aside, and a season of idle- 

t ; ( ness and discontent began. 

Fortunately, before leaving Stockton, 
I had purchased an Accordeon, in an- 
ticipation of some little leisure, when it 

- would help to beguile the weary hours. 
Charley was an excellent performer on 
this instrument, and likewise a good 

tenor singer. The Doctor, or Tom, as 
we familiarly called him, sung bass, so, 
between us, we passed the time away as 
pleasantly as could be expected under 
the circumstances. 

As soon as it ceased raining, Charley 
proposed that I should accompany him 
on a prospecting tour, as there seemed 
to be no chance of being able to do 
anything in that neighborhood for some- 
time, as the canons were still full of 
water. Assenting to his proposal, we 
saddled our mules and proposed to visit 
some mines about twenty miles distant, 
which were reported to be very rich. — 
It was said that the miners in that lo- 
cality were making one hundred dollars 
per day. 

Not doubting the truth of the story 
but yet anxious to be sure the report 
was not exagerated, we concluded to go 
and examine for ourselves before we 
moved cur tent. Before leaving the 
tent, I requested Tom to put on a ket- 
tle of beans and have them cooked by 
the time we would be able to reacb 
home, as our long ride over the moun- 
tains would shaYpen our appetites. — 
Now beans and flapjacks were the 
standing di.~h of the miners, and every 
one was an adept at preparing them. — 
Tom especially, prided himself on his 
culinary skill, and vowed that although 
he did not come from Yankeedom, yet 
he would cook us.a mess of beans which 
would make a down easter go into ec- 
stasies. Away we went, feeling perfect- 
ly satisfied that whatever luck we might 
have in finding good "diggins," we 
were sure of a good supper on our re- 

The sun was shining brightly vhen 
we left our camp, and we anticipated 



having a fine day for our journey : but, 
before we reached the place we were 
going to, it clouded over and commenc- 
ed drizzling, and at times it came down 
thick and fast, wetting us to the skin. 

We did not, however, mind this, as 
it was no new thing for us to be wet, 
so we continued on our way through 
the rain until we arrived at the "dig- 
gins" we were in search of. After tak- 
ing a good look around among the 
claims and making inquiries of the 
miners, we found that we had been 
badly sold by the ambiguous report we 
had heard. 

The miners were indeed making one 
hundred dollars per day collectively, 
but individually they were not making 
five dollars per day. 

We, therefore, taking all things into 
consideration, concluded to return to 
our camp and wait, like Wilkens Me- 
cawber, for something to "turnup," 
which would contribute to our mutual 

Having come to this conclusion, we 
turned the heads of our mules home- 
ward, and meandered slowly along the 
mountain. The rain had made the 
road very slippery, and we were oblig- 
ed +o be very cautious, lest our mules 
should loose their footing and be pre- 
cipitated down the mountain side into 
some of the deep ravines and canons at 
their foot. In many places we dis- 
mounted and preferred to travel on foot, 
although we knew that a mule would 
walk with safety where it was dangerous 
for man to travel, and it was almost 
night when we reached the summit of 
the high mountain which overlooked 
our camp. We were now very hungry 
and as wo descended the side of the 

mountain, Charley would every now 
and then say, Horay ! don't you smell 
the beans? My olfactory nerves not 
being sensitive enough to smell the 
beans so far off, I would as often an- 
swer in the negative. But, as we drew 
near the camp, the savory smell came 
stealing over our senses, putting Char- 
ley in a perfect ecstasy at the prospect 
of a good supper, and he already com- 
menced smacking his lips as if he had 
just demolished a spoonful of the best 
frejoles — beans. 

I was not a whit less hungry than 
Charley, for neither of us had broken 
our fast since six o'clock in the morn- 
ing, and the long ride over the moun- 
tains had sharpened our appetites up 
to £he keenest point. As we approach- 
ed within a short distance of the tent, 
we put our mules at a brisk gallop, and 
set up a yell, which brought Tom out 
of the tent where he had been playing 
the Accordeon and singing. 

! California ! you're not the land for me 
I'm going back to Virginia my true-love for to 

and several other California Hymns. 

' The beans !' cried Charley, ' a bean, 
a bean, my fortune for a bean !' 'They are- 
done,' replied Tom, 'how will you have 
them served up, al a mode de Paris? 
or al a mode de California V ' Serve 
them up as you please,' replied Char- 
ley, but let us have them by the time 
we get our mules unsaddled. While 
Charley was talking I had unsaddled 
my mule and picketed her near the 
camp and was going towards the tent 
when an exclamation, coupled with an 
anathema from Tom, made me turn to- 
wards the camp fire. 



There stood Tom with his hands 
thrust into his pantaloons' pockets, gaz- 
ing on the overturned kettle of beans, 
with a look better imagined than de- 
scribed. Grief, anger, mortificatiou, 
and disappointment were so blended in 
his looks as to give him an appearance 
so perfectly ridiculous that I had to 
laugh heartily, notwithstanding my own 
disappointment at the loss of my sup- 

Charley came running up to see what 
was the matter, and on beholding the 
contents of the kettle spread out among 
the ashes, he could not refrain from vio- 
lating one of the ten commandments, 
sundry and divers times. But at last his 
anger calmed and he stood mournfully 
contemplating the scene before him. — 
The tout ensemble was so ridiculous 
that I again broke out into a hearty 
laugh, which brought both of them to 
their senses, and made them raise their 
eyes from the ground and fasten them 
on each other. ' Let's go to bed,' said 
Tom ! ' Agreed,' said Charley, and 
away we went; thus ending our disap- 
pointment and hunger in sleep. To 
retrieve his lost reputation, Tom arose 
long before daylight the next morning, 
without awakening us, and proceeded 
to concoct as fine a breakfast as could 
be had in the mines. "When we arose 
and went out of the tent we found him 
watching the kettle with a lion's eye, 
lest the supporting stick should again 
break. In a little time our hunger was 
satisfied, and lighting our regalias we 
proceeded to convey to him the infor- 
mation we had obtained respecting the 
mining locality we had visited, and to 
converse upon our prospects generally. 

The water was still high in the ra- 

vines and there seemed but little pros- 
pect of its subsiding for some time. — 
But after an animated discussion on the 
part of Charley and Tom, as to wheth- 
er we should remain in the mines and 
go to work, or return to Stockton, I de- 
cided the question, by voting for our 
stay in the mines. The next thing that 
engaged our attention was the selection 
of a claim upon which to devote our 
energies, and from which we expected 
to take our piles. In a few days we 
made our selection, and a most unfor- 
tunate one it was, as subsequent events 
demonstrated. It was situated in a 
deep ravine with precipitous mountains 
on either side. A large stream of wa- 
ter rushed through the ravine, which 
had to be turned before we could work 
its bed. To do this, we built a strong 
dam, as we thought, with large rocks, 
rolled down the mountain side, and fill- 
ed the interstices with dirt, until we 
thought we had a dam strong enough 
to turn the San Joaquin itself. We 
then fixed our cradle and commenced 

" All went merry as a marriage bell" 
for the first day. We had reached the 
stratum containing the gold, and ex- 
pected to make a good days work the 
next day. But it commenced raining 
that night, and in the morning, when 
we went to look for our dam, we found 
nothing but the rocks. Our hole 
was filled with water, our tools buried 
beneath the mud at the bottom, and our 
cradle had been appropriated by the 
nymph of the glen, I suppose for her 
own domestic purposes. As we stood 
contemplating the disaster, Tom ex- 
exclaimed: " Did'nt I tell you we had 
better leave this confounded spot and 



go back to the city! Here we have 
been for two or three weeks smoking 
our segars, riding over the mountains, 
and leading a rough and tumble life in 
the vain hope of miking our " pile." — 
Beli old our hopes are scattered as chaff 
before the wind ; every thing is against 
us ; let us return to the city! 'Bah!' 
exclaimed Charley, ' and what would 
you do there? drive a team, as many 
young disciples of Blackstone and JEs- 
culapius have, I suppose, for devil a 
patient you'd get! 'What say you, 
Harry, go or stay ? Our implements 
are in the bottom of yonder hole, I ex- 
claimed and I am going to get them 
out, and some gold with them, if there 
is any there. ' Good,' said Charley, 
' and now let us go to work and clean 
out the hole.' But before we could do 
that we had to build another dam, 
which we determined should be strong- 
er than the other. By the end of the 
day we completed the dam, and went 
to our tent. The next morning we 
commenced work in earnest, and soon 
cleaned out our hole and found some 
gold. For three days, we continued to 
work with fair success, but on the 
fourth, as I was throwing up some dirt 
from the bottom of the hole, the dam 
broke, and in a few minutes I was sub- 
merged in a compound of mud and wa- 
ter about the consistency of mo!a=se5. 
Tom rushed to my rescue, and relieved 
me from my uncomfortable pos«tion. — 
Where is Charley? I exclaimed, as soon 
as I rubbed the mud out of my eyes. — 
'He was there a few minutes ago,' replied 
Tom, at the same time pointing to a large 
rock near which we had washed our 
gold, I guess the torrent has washed 
him down the ravine ; suppose we go 

and look for him ! Well, said I, come 

on ! But before we had proceeded very 

far we found Charley seated on a rock 

pouring water out of his boots and 

washing the mud from his clothes, and 

at the same time singing — 

" It rained all night the day I left, 
The weather it was dry," &c. 

with as much nonchalance as if nothing 
had happened. 

Wo then returned to the tent, ex- 
changed our wet clothes for dry ones, 
and again discussed the question wheth- 
er to remain in the mines or return to 
the city. Our misforiunes had so ac- 
cumulated for the past week, that we 
all decided to quit the mines and try 
our fortunes in another field. 

We soon disposed of our tent, provi- 
sions, and mining implements, and 
started on the road for Stockton. We 
had been riding along very leisure- 
ly during the early part of the 
day, as the road extended through a 
country infested by grizzly bears and 
robbers : we examined every bush and 
glen very cautiously as we approached 
them, but saw nothing until near night 
that caused alarm. At this time we 
had throwu off some of our caution, 
and were engaged in an animated con- 
versation, when, suddenly, as we were 
passing a clump of manc^neta bushes, 
our mules shyed violently, pitching 
Charley promiscuously into the top of 
the clump. At the same time a large 
bear — magnified to twice his propor- 
tions by our fears and the now deeping 
twilight, came out of the bushes. and 
uttered a low growl. But not long did 
we stop to look at him, for no animal 
will so frighten a mule, so suddenly re- 
vive the drooping spirits of our almost 



broken down pack mule as a grizzly 
bear. I have seen them, when they 
could scarcely drag themselves along 
the road, at the appearance of a bear, 
suddenly start off and run with the ra- 
pidity of a deer, notwithstanding their 
heavy pack. So it was with ours. — 
Friendship demanded that we should 
rescue Oharley, but our mules insisted 
on carrying us away from that locality 
at the rate of two forty. At last how- 
ever we managed to hold them in, but 
not one step back would they go. — 
Spurs and stick-, were of no avail, mo- 
ral suasion was tried but with no bet- 
ter effect, so we had to dismount and 
walk back to the spot. 

As we neared the spot we prepared 
our fire arms, for we expected every mo- 
ment to meet the bear, but he had 
snuffed danger in the wind, and not feel- 
ing in a fighting mood, had gone off 
among the bushes. By the time we 
reached the spot where Charley had 
been deposited, he had succeeded in 
extricating himself frcm the top of the 
bushes, not however without having 
left a good portion of his wardrobe flut- 
tering in the breeze. His mule had run 
off, and as it was now night,we determin- 
ed to return to the place where we had 
picketed our mules, and camp for the 
night. When we reached the mules, 
we also found Charley's along with 
them and grazing very quietly. In a 
few minutes we firmly picketed the 
mules, built our camp fire, and lay 
down to sleep. The next morning we 
descended into the great plain of the 
Sacramento. Here, all was beautiful. 
It was in the early part of Spring, and 
the plain, as far as the eye could reach, 
was covered with a rich carpet of young 

grass, interspersed with flowers of every 
dye. Our mules seemed almost unable 
to containtain themselves, as they travel- 
ed through the nutritious grass. In 
fact, California had begun to put on her 
holiday attire, and could be truly called 
the land of flowers and gold ; of the 
most beautiful and enchanting scenery 
on the globe, Italy and Greece not even 

Far behind us the hills rose in grad- 
ual succession, one above the other, un- 
til they were lost in the distance where 
the Sierra's high raise their hoary heads 
amid the blue vault of Heaven. On 
every side the plain spread out like a 
vast ocean, dotted here and there, at re- 
gular intervals, with the scrub oaks of 
California. Birds sung gaily from the 
trees, and the little squirrel darted into 
his hole at our approach, while ever and 
anon a herd of noble elk bounded gaily 
over the plain. Our spirits rose in pro- 
portion to the beauty of the scenery, till 
at last, unable to contain myself any 
longer, I gave vent to my feelings by 
exclaiming, O glorious Spring, again art 
thou come. All things tell us thou art 
with us. The dark clouds have melted 
away before thy presence, and the rains 
have ceased at thy command, once more 
the earth begins to assume her wonted 
appearance. The grass has put forth 
its tender leaves and dressed the hills 
and valleys with a new attire. The 
shrill whistle of the Curlew, and the loud 
clang of the wild goose have passed 
away,and the Thrush and the Lark have 
taken their places, and, with their mer- 
ry notes, welcome thy approach. The 
mountains have cast off their hoary 
mantles and the streams have ceased 
their rapid course and now calmly wind 



their way among the hills and through 
the valleys. The elk and the wild deer 
bound gaily over the plain, and the sal- 
mon and the trout sport in the streams. 
All nature joins in welcoming thy ap- 

1 Stop ! stop !' cried Charley, < stop ! 
—you — you — you plagiarist ! You 
stole almost every thing you said from 
Willis, except his poetry, and that you 
could'nt steal. Pshaw, I replied, I 
have not seen his works since I came to 
California. This is what a man gets 
for opening the treasure house of his 
soul to boors who cannot appreciate 
the treasures it contains. ' He who as- 
cends to mountain tops will find, &c., 
<fec, you know the rest. Yes, replied 
he, but you have not reached the foot 

of the mountain, let alone the top, so 
you cannot apply the quotation to your- 
self, however much it would gratify 
your vanity. Stop your wrangling, 
cried Tom, there is the smoke of the city* 
let us gallop on and get there before 

In a short time we arrived in Stock- 
ton, and 'were soon divested of our min- 
ing habiliments and clothed in city gar- 
ments. Thus ended my first, my only, 
and my last visit to the Gold Mines of 
California. Any body who feels dis- 
posed to test the accuracy of this de- 
scription, by going there, is at liberty to 
do so ; as for myself, I prefer mingling 
in the busy marts of crowded cities to 
leading, the toilsome vexations and 
dangerous life of a California miner. 


Barnum's latest great humbug is 
now before the public, dedicated to 
the •* Universal Yankee nation," of 
which he is proud to be one. The 
"Prince of humbugs" is exactly the 
man to write an autobiography, though 
it is very doubtful whether such a book 
will have any other effect than to sap 
the foundations of public morals. 
He will cater most successfully for 

the morbid appetites of a diseased pub- 
lic, who has rascality enough to bam- 
boozle them, and sufficient effrontery to 
tell them of it. Such a man is Phineas 
T. Barnum. He has been deceiving, 
cheating, and amusing the American 
people for a number of years ; and now, 
after having acquired an immense for- 
tune, he coolly writes a history of his 
" lying wonders," exulting in his good 



natured villanies, and glorying in his 

He is, undoubtedly, a man of superior 
intellect, possessing a wonderful knowl- 
edge of human nature; with a keen 
sense of the ludicrous, and an over- 
powering propensity to fill his pockets 
at the expense of other men's follies. — 
With indomitable energy, he unites a 
perfect pa>sion for speculation, and a 
deep rooted aversion to regular, plod- 
ding hard work. 

In a word, his is a " rara avis ;" a 
most extraordinary mixture of the 
shrewd, calculating, lying Yankee, and 
the frank, reckless speculator, with a 
good head and a warm heart. 

In the first place, Barnum is a pro- 
digious liar. His grand-father was a 
liar; his father was a liar ; his uncles 
were liars ; and he was born and raised 
in a little lying town, where nothing 
was so popular as a lie, under the spe- 
cious title of a practical joke. 

Moreover, he tells us that he disliked 
work exceedingly. "I felt that I had 
not reached my proper sphere. The 
farm was no place for me, I always dis- 
liked work. Head-work I was ex- 
ceedingly fond of. I was always rea- 
dy to concoct fun, or lay plans for mon- 
ey making ; but hand-work was decid- 
edly not in my line. My father insist- 
ed that I should hoe and plough, and 
work in the garden as well as any body 
else ; but I generally contrived to shirk 
the work altogether, or by slighting it, 
get through with the day's work." Now 
is it surprising that a smart, fun-loving 
boy, who would rather live by his wits 
than his hands, should develop into 
the "Prince of humbugs ?" 

His early life and education are very 

well portrayed in the first hundred 
pages of "practical jokes." He tells 
that his father was a great practical 
joker — and of course a great liar, as 
may be seen by the anecdote of " Beers 
and old Bob," p. 69—73. We can only 
refer to it, as it is too long for inser- 

The school in which our author 
learned his morals is described as fol- 
lows : 

"They have a proverb in Connecti- 
cut, that the best school in which to 
have a boy learn human nature is 
to permit him to be a tin-peddler 
for a few years; I think his chan- 
ces for getting his 'eye-teeth cut,* 
would be equally great in a coun- 
try barter-store, like that in which I 
was clerk. As before stated, many of 
our customers were hatters, and we 
took hats in payment for goods. The 
large manufacturers generally dealt 
fairly by us, but some of the smaller 
fry occasionally shaved us prodigiously. 

There is probably no trade in which 
there can be more cheating than in 
hats. If a hat was damaged 'in color- 
ing' or otherwise, perhaps by a cut half 
a foot in length, it was sure to be patch- 
ed up, smoothed over, and slipped in 
with others to be sent to the store. — 
Among the furs used for the nap of hats 
in those days were Beaver, Russia, Nu- 
tria, Otter, Coney, Muskrat, &c. The 
best fur was Otter, and the poorest was 

The hatters mixed their inferior furs 
with a little of their best, and sold us 
the hats for ' Otter." We, in return, 
mixed our sugars, teas, and liquors, and 
gave them the most valuable names. 

It was " dog eat dog," " tit for tat. w 



Our cottons were sold for wool, our 
wool and cotton for silk and linen. In 
fact, nearly every thing was different 
from what it was represented. The 
customers cheated us with their fabrics, 
and we cheated them with our goods. 
Each party expected to be cheated if it 
was possible. Our eyes, not our ears, 
had to be our masters. We must be- 
lieve little that we saw, and less that 
we heard. Our calicoes were all " fast 
colors," according to our representa- 
tions; and the colors would generally 
run " fast '^enough in a tub of soap- 
suds. Our ground coffee was general- 
ly as good as burned peas, beans, and 
corn would make ; and our ginger was 
tolerable, considering the price of corn- 
meal. The " tricks of trade rt were nu- 
merous. If a peddler wanted to trade 
with us for a box of beaver hats, worth 
sixty dollars per dozen, he was sure to 
get a box of "Conies," which were dear 
at fifteen dollars per dozen. If we took 
our pay in clocks warranted to keep 
good time, the chance-: were that they 
were no better than a chest of drawers 
for that purpose — like Pindar's razors, 
made to sell, — and if half the number 
of wheels necessary to form a clock 
were found inside of the case, it was as 
lucky as extraordinary. 

Such a school would "cut eye-teeth;" 
but if it did not cut conscience, morals, 
and integrity all up by the roots, it 
would be because the scholars quit be- 
fore their education was completed." 

If the foregoing is a false picture, it 
proves our assertion that Barnum is a 
liar; and if it is a true one it clijuchis 
tbe nail most effectually. We may 
conclude therefore, from this piece of 
bald faced effrontery, that he took a 

full course in the aforesaid school, and 
graduated with high distinction. We 
think it probable that the only thing 
which has saved him from "dangling 
in the wind, a gibbet's tassel," is his 
strict " teetolalism." He has been a 
" teetotaller " for many years. 

Barnum attributes his success in a 
great measure to the unsparing use of 
printer's ink. He meets a little Italian 
[date-spinner and engages his services. 
Immediately the newspapers are crowd- 
ed with advertisements of a celebrated 
" Italian artist" just arrived ; and in- 
numerable hand bills, setting forth his 
wonderful exploits, meet the eye at eve- 
ry turn, consequently, upon his first ex- 
hibition "the house was crammed." 

He buys an old dried carcase of a 
monkey with a fish's tail joined to it, 
from a man in Boston. " In due time 
a communication appeared in the New 
York Herald, dated and mailed in 
Montgomery, Ala., giving the news of 
the day,- the trade, crops, political gos- 
sip, &c, and also an incidental para- 
graph about a certain Dr. Griffin, agent; 
of the Lyceum of natural history in 
London, recently from Pernambuco, 
who had in his possession a most re- 
markable curiosity, b^ing no less than : 
a vei'i table mermaid, taken among the 
Feeje Islands, and preserved in China, 
where the doctor had bought it at a 
high figure for the Lyceum of natural 1 

Similar communications — the whole' 
were written by himself — appeared from 
Charleston and Washington. A few 
days after, a Mr. Lyman — an old friend 
and employee of the author — "is duly 
registered at one of the principal hotels 
in Philadelphia as Dr. Griffin of Per- 



nambuco, for London." By an ingeni- 
ous trick of Lyman's, the Philadelphia 
papers are filled with Dr. Griffin and 
the Mermaid. He then comes to New 
York, and when public curiosity had 
been excited to the highest pitch by ex- 
travagant cuts in the newspapers, pur- 
porting to be exact representations of 
this great .curiosty, and a pamplet writ- 
ten by the "prince" himself, purporting 
to give its history; various advertise- 
ments set forth that Dr. Griffin has 
been prevailed upon to exhibit the Mer- 
maid, and that it may be seen at "Con- 
cert Had, "positively for one week only? 
Crowds are attracted to see the prodigy, 
aud the author of the 'humbug pockets 
a good round sum. 

On another occasion, he buys a wooly 
horse, with no mane and no hair on his 
tail, and has him conveyed to New 
York and "placed in a rear stable where 
no eye of curiosity could reach him." 

In the meantime, the public become 
highly excited about Col. Fremont and 
his exploring party, said to have perish- 
f ed among the Rocky Mountains. At 
length the news of their safety arrives ; 
immediately the newspapers are rilled 
with accounts of a wonderful nonde- 
jpcript, captured by Col. Fremont in 
California, "made up of the E ephant, 
Deer,Hjrse, Camel, Buffalo and Sheep.'' 
I The streets were also lined with hand- 
bills and posters, illustrating in wood 
cuts the same thrilling event ;" which 
woodcuts represent the "wooly horse 
jumping over a valley five miles wide, 
with the Col. and Co., in hot pursuit, !" 

"But the public appetite was craving 
something tangible from Col. Fremont. 
The community was absolutely famish- 
ing. They were ravenous," consequent 

ly the humbug was swallowed at a sin 
gle gulp, aud proved very profitable to 
its author. 

On another occasion he hired all the 
ferry boats to Hoboken for a certain 
day, and advertised that there would be 
a grand Buffalo hunt at that place on 
the same day, free of charges. "Mr. C. 
D. French, one of the most daring and 
experienced hunters of the West, has 
arrived thus far on his way to Europe 
with a herd of Buffaloes captured by 
himself near Santa Fee." Baruura had 
bought half a dozen Buffalo calves in 
Massachusetts. " Every man, woman, 
and child can here witness the wild 
sports of the Western prairies, &c, &c. 
On the day appointed, about fifty thou- 
sand persons crossed over to Hoboken, 
when lo ! the poor little calves were let 
loo>e, and by dint of punching with 
sharp sticks, were stimulated into a 
slow trot! 

We see, by the foregoing examples, 
that falsehood is quite as important an 
agent for Barnum as printer's ink ; and 
that both are used unsparingly. 

But let us "give the devil his due." 
In his transactions with Jenny Lind, 
Barnum certainly acted very honorably, 
and that part of his book relating to 
her visit to America is exceedingly in- 
teresting, and probably contains more 
reliable information with regard to it 
than can be obtained elsewhere. 

His description of the exhibition of 
Tom Thumb in Europe is also very in- 
teresting. We are not particularly cu- 
rious about the manner in which kiugs 
and queens dress, eat their meals, re- 
ceive vidtors, &c. ; but we are curious 
to know how a pigmy would be receiv- 
ed at the courts of European princes. 



On this subject our author fully satis- 
fies our curiosity, enlivening his narra- 
tive by a number of amusing incidents 
and rich anecdotes. 

On the whole, the book is decidedly 
rich, and affords to the student of hu- 
man nature abundant food for reflec- 
tion. Although it abounds with lies, it 
contains a great deal that is useful. — 
The remarks on temperance and agri- 
culture are excellent, and the " rules for 
making a fortune " are such as no man 
can object to. They are as follows : 

"1. Select the kind of business that 
suits your natural inclinations and tem- 

2. Let your pledged word be ever 

3. Whatever you do, do with all your 

4. Sobriety, use no kind of intoxicat- 
ing drinks. 

5. Let hope be predominant, but be 
not too visionary. 

6. Do not scatter your powers. 

7. Engage proper employees. 

8. Advertise your business. 

9. Avoid extravagance, and always 
live considerably within your income i! 
you can do so without absolute starva- 

10. Do not depend upon others." 
On each of these heads the authoi 
makes a few practical remarks, whicl 
show him to be a man of experience anc 
excellent common sense. By far th 
greatest benefit, however, to be derive< 
from the book, consists in the view.o 
human nature therein presented, anc 
the exposure of the whole system o 
"Barnumizing" which has been so sue, 
cessfully carried on in the Unitec 

Those who suppose that Barnum i 
the only extensive humbug in this coun 
try, are vastly mistaken. There ar 
men in almost^, every department W; 
are grossly deceiving us, and could w 

" Kip their hollow, rotteD hearts, 

An' tell aloud 
Their jugglin, hokus pokus arts, 

To cheat the crowd," 

many would be astonished at the rev* 
lations made. 

We will now dismiss the subjec 
hoping that the "General History < 
Humbug," which our author has prom 
sed the public will soon appear. 


flora Mcdonald. 



After the disastrous result of the bat- 
tle of Culloden had terminated forever 
the hopes of the ill fated house of Stu- 
art, the followers of the Pretender re- 
turned to their Highland homes, hop- 
ing to avoid for the present, at least, 
the vengeance of their victorious foes. 
The chieftains who had followed the 
standard of the Pretender had atoned 
bitterly for their loyalty to their ancient 
line cf Sovereigns; one half of their 
warriors, the flower of their respective 
clans had perished by the sword of a 
superior and inhuman enemy, less terri- 
ble in battle than in pursuit. The chiv- 
alrous Lochiel, and his devoted com- 
peers, now sought, in the fastnesses of 
their native mountains, a hiding place 
from the fury of the English, there to 
await the turn of fortune which might 
lead them to the scaffold, or afford an 
opportunity of escaping to the Conti- 
nent, to die heart-broken exiles. 

But the suffering of this unfortunate 
people did not end here. The vindic- 
tive spirit of their foes followed them in 
their retirement, and cruelties that 
would disgrace barbarian conquerors 
desolated their region, and drove them 
from their homes to seek a refuge across 
the Atlantic* 

* The Highlanders who were ruined by their 
adherance to the cause of the Pretenders set- 
tled principally in North Carolina in the coun- 

The Prince in the meantime had es- 
caped to the Hebrides. Hither he was 
closely followed by the English troops, 
who guarded closely every strait, island, 
and lock in the neighborhood. A re- 
ward of £30,000 was set upon his head 
with the hope that the faithful followers 
of his shattered fortunes would be se- 
duced from their fidelity by the offer of 
such a princely fortune. Tossed by 
storms such as occur only on those seas, 
suffering every species of privation and 
danger, and closely pursued by his ene- 
mies, he was forced to land on the is- 
land of South Uist;— where it was his 
fortune to meet with the subject of thia 

Flora McDonald was born between 
the years 1720 — '25, at Milton in the 
island of South Uist. After the death 
of her father, her mother married Hugh 
McDonald of Skye, and removed thith- 
er with Flora. Little is known of her 
history previous to 1746. She had just 
returned home from school in Argyle- 
shire, and was on a v'sit to her brother 
in South Uist, when the Prince took 
refuge on that island. The Enorlish im- 

try watered by the Cape Fear. The British 
Government as if to keep the remembrance of 
their calamities ever present to their minds, 
named the county in which most of them had 
settled after the Duke of Cumberland, the heart- 
less Commander of the royal forces at Culloden. 
A peculiarity of manners, customs and charac- 
ter mark their descendants to the present day. 



mediately placed guards at every port, 
path and hamlet of the island. The 
Prince with two followers, O'Neal ar.d 
Neill McDonald, usually called Mack- 
ecban — the father of the celebrated 
Marshal McDonald, Duke of Tarentum 
' — was secreted in a cleft in a rock, 
which lay in a secluded part of the is- 
land. In this wretched situation he 
passed several days, the continual rains 
drenching him day and night. His 
faithful attendants still remained by his 
side, and sheltered him as well as they 
could from the beating storm, except 
when it was necessary that they should 
go in quest of a morsel of food. This 
itself was a hazardous duty, for no per- 
son was permitted to leave the island 
or even to enter or leave a hamlet with- 
out a strict examination and a passport 
from some one of the English officers. 

How a meeting between the Prince 
and Flora McDonald was brought about 
is unknown, but it was probably effect- 
ed by Maekechan, who was well ac- 
quainted with the character and influ- 
ence of Miss McDonald. As soon as 
she learned what was the situation 
of the Prince, she became warmly in- 
terested in his safety and resolved, at 
every hazard, to rescue him from his 
pursuers. An interview was effected 
by night, and it was decided that the 
Prince should he dressed in female at- 
tire, and elude the vigilance of the Eng- 
lish by accompanying Flora as her 
maid. The Prince was compelled to 
endure his miserable manner of living 
for several days longer to await the pre- 
parations for the escape. Flora Mc- 
Donald in the meantime sent a female 
dress to the Prince by Maekechan, and 
applied to her step-father, who Com- 

manded a body of Eoval troops at tha 
place, for a passport for herself, her 
maid Betsy Burke, and her old neigh- 
bor, Maekechan, She received the 
passports as desired, but fearful of al- 
lowing the Prince to attempt to pass all 
the English guards even in disguise, 
she had him conveyed by night from 
one house to another, where he would 
remain throughout the day as Miss Mc- 
Donald's maid. They finally reached 
the shore, where a boat was awaiting 
to convey them to the isle of Skye. As 
night drew on they embarked, being 
fearful of the English vessels that were 
guarding the island. After enduring a 
storm throughout the night, they drew 
near the isle of Skye, with the inten- 
tion of landing, as the weather had 
now grown calm; but to their dismay 
they found the coast occupied by the 
Royal troops, who opened on (hem with 
their musketry as they turned their 
course. Fortunately the balls of the 
enemy passed over their heads, and as 
there was a dead calm at the time they 
could not be pursued by the enemies 
boats, which were without oars. They 
now steered for an unfrequented part of 
the coast, where they might land un- 
discovered. During this coasting voy- 
age v Flora, overcome by her toils, and 
vigils sunk into a profound sleep, the 
first she had enjoyed since embarking 
in this dangerous enterprise, and the 
Prince in turn now watched over the 
slumbers of his lovely guardian. It was 
afterwards a source of many a senti- 
mental sigh among the Jacobite ladies 
of London when Flora would tell how 
tenderly and shieldingly she found the 
Prince's arm folded about her head on 
awaking from, her siesta. 

flora Mcdonald. 


On their arrival at Skye, Flora re- 
paired with her companions, the Prince 
and Maekechan, to the residence of Sir 
Alexander McDonald, who was then 
on the mainland in the service of the 
King. His residence was occupied by 
the officers of the Royal troops. The 
Lady Margaret, his wife, welcomed her 
kinswoman, Flora, with great cordiality; 
but when Flora disclosed the real name 
of her maid, she became sorely fright- 
ened both on her ow T n account, and that 
of the Prince, and entreated her to re- 
tire with him to some more quiet part 
of the island, until she could'find an 
opportunity of sending him to France. 

Charles McDonald, Laird of Kings- 
burgh, the future father-in-law of Flora, 
chanced to be at the residence of Sir 
Alexander at this time transacting some 
business for him in his absence. He 
was a noble-hearted old man, whom 
neither threats nor bribes could make 
swerve from his fidelity to the Stuarts. 
To him Lady Margaret disclosed the 
tale of Flora's rash efforts, and adven- 
tures in behalf of the Prince, and beg- 
ged him to take Flora and her protege to 
his home, where they would be less ex- 
posed to the watehful eyes of the Royal 
troops. Old Kingsburgh joyously con- 
sented to her request, and declared that 
nothing could give him greater happi- 
ness than to place his wealth and his 
few remaining years at the disposal of 
the Prince. Accordingly Flora and 
her companions accompanied him to 
Kingsburgh. Here the brave old host 
entertained his guest with the prover- 
bial hospitality of the Highlands, and 
loaded him with the attentions his dig- 
nity and situations required. Plans 
were then arranged for the escape of 
he Prince to the island of Rasa, where 

he would find friends sufficient in num- 
bers and power to ensure his escape to 
the Continent. The land-lady and 
Flora then retired, while old Kings- 
burgh and the Prince began to make 
merry over the bowl, Long their revel- 
ry continued, and they were waxing 
boisterous, when the crowing cock warn- 
ed them that day was approaching. — 
The Prince then retired to rest, and 
Kingsburgh set about having a boat 
prepared for the escape of his g'uest. — 
At one o'clock the preparations being 
finished the Prince was aroused 
from his sleep, and made ready 
to depart. The bed oa which he 
had slept, was immediately stripped of 
its sheets, which were set .a part as 
winding-sheets; the one for Lady Kings- 
burgh, the other for Flora ; and they 
never parted with these memorials of 
the Prince. They then set out for Por- 
trice, where the boat .was waiting, to 
convey the Prince to the opposite island 
of Rasa. On the road the Prince step- 
ped into a forest and laid aside his fe- 
male habiliments, and arrayed himself 
in the Highland costume, much to the 
gratification of his companions. At 
Portiice he parted with his faithful 
friends, Kingsburgh, Maekechan and 
Flora. To his fair preserver he express- 
ed the mournful hope that he would 
yet, at St. James's show the depth of a 
gratitude he could not now express; 
and leaving her with many regrets, and 
tears,aud blessings, he entrusted himself 
to the care of some who had fought un- 
der him at Culloden, he left the isle of 
Skye. His romantic adventures were 
continued for some time afterwards, 
when he escaped on a vessel to France. 
After parting with the Prince, Flora 
returned to her mother's house, and so 



faithfully did she keep the secret of her 
adventures, that her mother, and other 
most intimate friends were entirely ig- 
norant of what had been done. In a 
few days, however, they were sorely 
amazed by the arrival of a troop of 
Royal soldiers, whose commander ar- 
rested Flora, and without allowing her 
to take leave of her friends, hurried her 
on board a war vessel that was station- 
ed in the neighborhood. Shortly after- 
wards she was transferred to another 
ship, which sailed with her to Leith 
Roads, near Edinburgh. Here she was 
detained on board the vessel three 
months, during which time she was the 
object of interest to all classes and par- 
ties. The vessel was crowded daily by 
the throng of visitors. Some came to 
see the girl who had dared to rescue 
from the clutches of the Royal troops, 
one who- aspired to the dethronement 
of the Reigning Sovereign, some to 
6how how deeply* they appreciated the 
heroism, and self-devotion she had dis- 
played in behalf of the beloved, but un- 
fortunate Prince, while others were ac- 
tuated by the desire, merely to see a 
beautiful girl of such romantic reputa- 
tion. The friends of the house of Stu- 
art showed her the most unwearied at- 
tentions, and rendered her confinement 
as tolerable as circumstances would al 

The vessel on which she was con- 
fined, at the end of three months, turned 
its course towards London, but Flora 
was not sent ashore until nearly two 
more months had elapsed, when she 
was carried to the British Capitol, and 
lodged in the Tower. As soon as she 
arrived in London, the King paid her 
• risit, and introduced himself with the 

very ungallant question, " how had she 
dared contrive the escape of the Pro- 
teuder to his throne," and received 
from Flora the noble answer, " I did no 
more for the Prince than I would for 
you, were you in his situation." After 
being confined eight months in the 
Tower of London, she was set at liberty 
by the Act of Indemnity. Lord Mahon 
says that Flora was not released until 
after the lapse of a year, and then only 
at the intercession of the Prince of 

On being released from captivity, 
Flora accepted the invitation of Lady 
Primrose, to become her guest while 
she remained in London. This was the 
lady who entertained the Prince when 
he paid a secret visit to London, seve- 
ral years afterwards. During Flora's 
short stay at the house of Lady Prim- 
rose, previous to her return to the High- 
lands, she received an universiiity of at- 
tention that would have turned the 
head of any other than herself. But 
her good sense and modesty shone most 
brightly in the midst of homage and 
flattery ; and though the star of the 
most brilliant circles of the Metropolis, 
she gladly retired from their splendor, 
the same pure-minded Highland girl aa 
before. She once said in reply to a 
question of one of her flatterers that 
she never knew that she had done any- 
thing remarkable until she heard the 
world speaking of her deeds. 

Regarded as a heroine, this closes 
the most interesting part of her history. 
That a girl of wealth and position in so- 
ciety, should hazard the lives and for- 
tunes, both of herself and her friends, 
even with the expectation of being early 
repaid for her generous actions, i» 

flora Mcdonald. 


enough to excite the warmest feelings 
of admiration in every one. But, when 
this sacrifice is made for a friendless 
wanderer, an outlaw of her nation, and 
an outcast of the world, words fail to 
express the praise due the deed. The 
character of the Prince, also added lus- 
tre to her adventures. The last of the 
unfortunate house of Stuart, that had 
reigned for four hundred years, with 
continual alternations of splendor and 
misfortune, himself eminently qualified 
to fill the high estate to which he was 
entitled, had returned from exile to seek 
his own just rights, supported by those 
among whom his family had its origin 
— the Highlanders of Scotland. III- 
Buccess had defeated his hopes, and re- 
duced him to a condition that he could 
not have exchanged for that of the 
humblest peasant. Such being the per- 
son for whom she exerted herself so dis- 
interestedly the spirit of romance is na- 
turally commingled with the story of 
her life, and gives it an additional 
charm. The Prince felt deeply the debt 
of gratitude he owed her, and from 
his repeated declarations of his in- 
tention to show at a future day his 
sense of gratitude, it was shrewdly sup- 
posed that if he had ever succeeded in 
regaining his ancestral crown, Flora 
would have become Queen of England 
1 — a position which her many brilliant 
qualities, both of body and mind, emi- 
nently fitted her to adorn. Flora, how- 
ever, always combatted that report. 

Three years after her return to Sieve, 
Flora became the bride of the younger 
McDonald, of Kingsburgh. In the au- 
tumn of 1773, Dr. Johnson, and his man 
Boswell, paid a visit to Flora and her 
husband, at Kingsburgh. The old 
Yov. IV.— 8. 

Laird, of Kingsburgh, after suffering 
severely for aiding the escape of the 
Prince, had long since been laid to rest, 
and his wife was soon after laid by his 
side. Dr. Johnson gives a flattering 
description of the character of his 
hostess, who permitted him to gratifj 
his whim by sleeping in the bed on 
which the Prince had reposed many 
years before. 

Soon after the visit of Dr. Johnson, 
Kingsburgh's affairs became embarras- 
sed, and he, in consequence emigrated 
to an estate which he had purchased on 
the Cape Fear, in America. This estate 
was in the midst of the settlement that 
had been formed by the exiles of Cullo- 
den. There are those still living who 
remember the tears and blessings of 
that unfortunate people as they gather- 
ed around Flora, to welcome her who 
had saved the life of their beloved 
Prince, and how, when Flora detailed 
his perils, and sufferings, and fortitude, 
they made the native forests resound 
with the sentiment ever uppermost in 
their breast — " Prionsa Chearlach g li- 
bra gh /" 

When the American Revolution broke 
out, Kingsburgh inclined to the Royalist 
party, and was imprisoned by the Re- 
publicans as a dangerous man. Kings- 
burgh's three sons were at this time in 
the British army. After his release, he 
entered as an officer in a Royalist regi- 
ment, wnich was then advancing against 
the town of Wilmington. Flora accom- 
panied her husband below Fayetteville, 
and waited there to hear the result of 
the anticipated battle. In a few days 
her husband returned wounded and ex- 
hausted, to tell her how fatal to the 
Royalists had been the day at Moore's 



Creek. After this battle, Kingsburgh 
retired to his residence, to find quiet in 
**ȣ bosom of his family. Throughout 
the war, Flora displayed so much pru- 
dence, kindness and uprightness that 
the most bitter partisans of either side 
considered her as a model of al! that 
was just and good. She continued to 
make her life lovely, if not illustrious, 
by good deeds and a blameless charac- 
ter. I have often satin the pew where 
Flora M'Donald worshipped, and thought 
how little the deeds of the heroine of 
1746 added to the honor, which per- 
\ades that whole region, to the name of 
the matron of 1776. 

In a few mere years the signs of age 
began to premonish. them of the ap- 
proaching end ; and they prepared to 
return to Scotland, to sleep with their 
fathers in the isle consecrated by the 
scenes of their youth and early love. 

During the return, they encountered 
a French ship-of-war, and a sharp ac- 
tion ensued. The females were ordered 
below, but the spirit which had animat- 
ed her forty years before, was not yet 
broken in Flora's breast, and she insist- 
ed on remaining on deck, that by her 
voice and example, she might animate 
the sailors during the action. In the 
confusion of the fight, her arm was 
broken. She afterwards observed that 
her lot was a haid one, lor she had 
risked her life both for the house of 
Stuart and of Brunswick, and had re- 
ceived little thanks for either. 

The remainder of her years, which 
were few, was passed in the isle of 
Skye ; on the 4th of March, 1790, she 
calmly died the death of the righteous. 
She sleeps in the churchyard where she 
had often worshipped iu other days. 

In person, Flora McDonald was rath- 
er below the medium stature, and of an 
exceedingly graceful form. Her com- 
plexion was fair and her features beauti- 
ful. She was the mother of seven 
children — five sons and two daughters. 
I believe her descendants have all pass- 
ed awaj . 

Flora McDonald's character was en- 
tirely free from that unpleasant touch 
of masculineness, which generally marks 
strong-minded women. Though firm 
in purposes, she was ever modest and 
retiring, The latter part of her life, 
seems to me, to far transcend in loveli- 
ness her early romantic career. Those 
quiet deeds of goodness, which have 
perpetuated her memory among her 
countrymen in the humbler walks of 
life, never reached the pages of the pub- 
lic annals, nor if they had, would they 
have drawn from the world such ap- 
plause as did her admirable conduct in 
behalf of the Prince. But to him that 
admires the purest specimens of female 
loveliness adorned with the humble 
spirit of genuine Christianity, the char- 
acter of Flora McDonald afl'ords a sub- 
ject fur endless admiration. No epitaph 
can be inscribed on her monument with 
more fitness and truth than that beauti- 
ful couplet of Gray's : — 

" Lo ! where this silent marble weeps, 
A friend, a wife, a mother sleeps." 




by philo touchstone, sen. 
[concluded from page 366.] 

We left the unhappy Alice, bound 
with thongs, and in company with Mr. 
Henderson, riding across the prairie 
with terrific velocity. We must con- 
fess to a little electric shock from the 
sailor propensity of the fair creature, 
notwithstanding her blue eyes, and 
waving ringlets. It is more than we 
can do to follow her now, on her Indian 
pony. Our readers are not aware, 
perhaps, of the excellent qualities of 
these animals; and we feel tempted to 
enter into a learned disquisition on the 
subject, but time presses, and we must 
do something for poor Simon Herrick, 
whom the cruel savages left in the 
lurch. 'It is evident that he could not 
overtake the Indians, and what he 
would do, not knowing, we can't say. 
If we were dealing in Eastern story, we 
could soon transport him on the back 
of some genii, to the rescue of his 
daughter ; but we are just on the other 
pole, and consequently in a *' quonda- 
ry." It would be a great pity that 
some red-face should aspire to the Ix- 
quisite privilege of the hand of such 
pale-faced loveliness. In that event 
the brave Henderson would suffer, and 
to that we are decidedly opposed. 

Shades of John Fennimore Cooper, 
hover around us, and lead our bewilder- 
ed imagination to the proper deuou- 
ment of this awful tragedy. But, oh! 

spare the maiden ; even if thou must 
call the shade of Deer-Slayer back once 

Our heart moveth us to assume the 
"lofty Cothurnus" once in our life, and 
rival the " well sung woes" of Beau- 
mont and Fletcher. Somewhat as fol- 
lows : 



Shakspeare— " The wretched animal heaved 
forth such groans, 
That their discharge did stretch his leathern 

Almost to bursting." 
Henderson— This day I'll mark with chalk, 

For I have slain a deer. 
Lorenzo — Beware my youngster how yoj talk, 
Or I will pull your ear. 


Milton — Each at the head, 

Levelled his deadly hands, their fatal aim, 

No second stroke intended. 
Lorenzo— How beautiful is night, 

The moon and stars shine bright. 
Henderson — I love her liquid light, 

The Empress of the night, 

An alarum, Indian battle field. 
Lorenzo — Now show thy grit my Yankee 

For if we die, we'll have no truce. 
All — The cursed redskins bite the ground, 

And seven lie pierced with ghastly wounds. 

Hitherto have we come, and to such a 
pitch of agony have we lashed our feel- 
ings, that we must leave the rest with 
our gentle readers. In a poetic vision 
we beheld the fair Alice slain, and her 



poor aged father tearing his venerable 
locks with grief. 

Such is life in the world of romance. 
Let there be a distance between us and 

it, and we hope Mr. Touchstone will 
hereafter confine himself in his own do- 


I .beg leave to introduce yon to the 
principal actor at a brilliant party, sur- 
rounded by the usual quantity of ladies, 
with glancing eyes and moustached 
young men. As he returns your saluta- 
tion with a gracious inclination of the 
head, you are somewhat pleased. 

As it is our purpose to no lice his ac- 
tions and words, in order to form some 
idea of his character, we will not trou- 
ble you with a lengthened description. 
It will be sufficient to state, that his 
height is about six feet. Although he 
is not handsome, he has quite a striking 
face. His wandering grey eye, and 
nervous sentences, impress you quite 
favorably with respect to his intelli- 
gence. Conversing with him in a corn- 
er of the room, you readily perceive he 
is no imitator, no morbid sentimentalist, 
no epicurean or stoic ; but still your 
mind is somewhat puzzled when he tells 
you Shelley's Queen Mab is his favorite 

Asking why he has such a preference 
for Queen Mab ? he replies, " I admire 

the poem because it is fraught with the 
most beautiful ideas, adorned by the 
purest and loftiest diction the English 
language affords, not that I sympathize 
with its infidelity. I know you are 
thinking, that I, like most of the young 
men of our age, am endeavoring to ex- 
cite astonishment and respect, by assert- 
ing dogmatically, paradoxical opinions. 
You have heard our ministers preach 
from the pulpit, the fearful tendency of 
the age to infidelity. I assure you, sir, 
the ministers who make this assertion, 
have no idea with how much truth they 

I am a young man, as you perceive, 
and have beep among many crowds of 
young men, and have beard them boast 
of their ignorance of the Scriptures, and 
at the same time they could not advance 
a single argument and sustain it, on 
either side. But you may ask, does 
this tendency exist simply on account 
of the popularity of such sentiments? — 
Yes, strange as it may seem, it is con- 
sidered an index of an uncommon mind 



to scoff at religioD. By looking around 
this room, you can easily perceive the 
tendency of the age to apathy and 
thoughtlessness concerning those sub- 
jects and persuits that elevate and re- 
fine. Although there are many excep- 
tions, yet most of our young ladies 
would rather lean on the arm of some 
sentimentalist, and hear him describe 
the beauties of a masquerade, than listen 
to the grandest idea of a Milton. 

During this dissertation, you might 
have easily perceived, that he cast quick 
furtive glances each side of him, and as 
he turns off to speak to some elderly 
looking persons who had been standing 
near all the time, it is very apparent he 
has been uttering these plausible senti- 
ments, for their especial benefit. 

At a later hour of the evening, you 
perceive him in another character. — 
He is waltzing around the room, and as 
his partner requests a small respite 
from the giddy twirl, he expresses his 
perfect astonishment, that any one 
should object to such delightful amuse- 
ment, and as he conducts her to a seal* 
he adds : 

"'Tis a pity, though in this sublime 
world that pleasure's a sin, and some 
times sin's a pleasure.'' 

Having given thus much of an in- 
sight into our hero's character, we will 
follow him in his career, as far as the 
purpose of our story warrants. Born 
of poor parents, he was compelled to 
rely on his own talents, which were 
amply sufficient to have procured him 
honor and preferance, if they had been 
directed in the right course. 

Admired for his acquirements, play- 
ing many parts upon his miniature- 

stage with success, he was led away by 
a phantasm, a shadow, which has lured 
many young men to their ruin. Hav- 
ing been the star actor of a Thespian 
corps formed by young men of his na- 
tive village, he supposed he could "show 
the mirror up to nature, show virtue 
her own image, scorn her own features" 
to much larger audience. 

Fired with the enthusiasm of youth, 
bright were his dreams of success, when 
he should make his first appearance 
upon the public boards. Looking for- 
ward to this event as the Hegira of his 
life, he became the " inhabitant of a 
fantastic realm," in which electrified 
audiences did homage to his genius. 

Having determined to seek fortune 
and fame upon the stage, after several 
successful attempts, he at last obtained 
a short engagement in New York. The 
manager, as is the general custom, our 
hero being a new comer, cast him a 
minor part. How gracefully his dreams 
of applause vanished, when he had to 
appear as a lacquey ! Forgetting that 
the approaches to fame were made by 
gradations, he mouthed his indigna- 
tion in the empty air, threw up his en- 
gagement, and joined a company of 
strolling players, who were coming 
South. The whole company consisting 
of but second rate players, as his talents 
were above ordinary, he soon became 
their star. Travelling through most of 
our Southern States, they came to a 
town in North Carolina, where the cir- 
cumstances I am about to relate occur- 

The Theatre at which the perfor- 
mance was to take place, was situated 
near a young ladies boarding school. 
The girls were all delighted of course, 



with the idea of attending the Theatre. 
There was one among tliem who was 
considered the wildest and most reck- 
less of the school. 

She was tall, gracefully formed, 
beautiful in every respect. Wild, as 
you know she was, it was such an in- 
nocent wildness, her light silvery voice 
like the whispering of our better na- 
ture, made all calm within. She was 
generally quite attentive to her studie?, 
and ga4 ne d quite a reputation for bril- 
liancy, among her teachers and friends. 
Passionately fond of the drama, with a 
mind gifted to comprehend the grand- 
est imagery, imagination sufficient to 
picture the scenery of the noblest trage- 
dy, she had read with avidity the works 
of Talfourd, Sheridan Knowles, Bulwer, 
and many other standard dramatists. 
She had read these great authors, not 
as most school girls read them. She 
had compared real characters with 
those portrayed by them, their impulses, 
their sentiments and passions. 

Bulwer being her favorite author, and 
as the lady of Lyons was to be per- 
formed the first night, she was all anxi. 
ety to see it represented. After much 
persuasion, the principal at last consent- 
ed to take them to the Theatre. As 
night approached, the anxiety of the 
girls, had amounted to excitement, to 
see the performance. At last the time 

They had been seated for some time, 
amid the crowded audience, awaiting in 
suspense the rising of the curtain. At 
the tinkling of the bell, our hero ap- 
peared as Claude Melnotte. This be- 
ing his favorite character, the glow of 
enthusiasm that lighted up his features, 
was a sure, earnest of success. As the 

play proceeded, Mary, as I shall call 
her, became entranced, transported with 
delight, and when Melnotte said, in his 
honest indignation, " 'lis the Prince 
thou lovest, not the man," she could 
have answered with Pauline, " thou 
wrongst me cruel Prince." 

Finally, the curtain went down amid 
the applause cf the audience. The 
whole company, as one man arose and 
shouted for Claude. Now were the 
bright dreams of our hero realized. He 
came forward to receive their commend- 
ations, made a short, appropriate speech, 
assuring the audience that it would 
ever afford him the greatest pleasure, to 
contribute in the slightest degree, to 
their delight. 

Returning home from the Theatre, 
the girls variously expressed the plea- 
sure they had experienced, but there 
was one who was silent, she was occu- 
pied with following Claude through the 
different scenes of the play. She did 
not know why; but surely the Prince 
of Como, Melnotte and Murean, (the 
different characters in which Claude ap- 
peared,) became identified with our 

Yes it must be acknowledged, Mary 
had overstepped the bounds of proprie- 
ty, she had not restrained her passion- 
ate feelings, and as she lay down that 
night, it was but to dream of Claude 
embodied in the actor. 

Men can go far beyond the limits of 
propriety and morality, even with credit 
to themselves ; yet a weak, tractable 
woman dare not venture one inch be- 
yond the pale, that has been marked 
out by conventual rules. 

There are many circumstauces that 
palliate Mary's fault. We are apt to 



attribute the lasting effect, that is pro- 
duced upon us by the actress who plays 
the part which we admired so much, to 
the assistance of false jewels and rouge, 
but I think it arises from something 
more creditable to mankind, it is pro- 
duced by our witnessing the actress 
swayed by the noblest sentiments, 
Bprinkled with just enough of earth to 
make her appear mortal. 

Mary arose next morning with the 
ima^e of our hero still before her. 

She sauntered out among the fra- 
grant roses, eglantines and honey- 
suckles, plucking the fairest, until she 
had gathered a beautiful cluster. 

During the rehearsal that day, the 
actor received a beautiful bouquet of 
flowers, with the compliments of Miss 
Mary C . Not having lost his ro- 
mance and love of adventure by his 
travels, he was delighted with this 
proof of his having made a conquest. 
But knowing well his position, he was 
well aware he could not venture to seek 
a public meeting. Ascertaining from 
the bearer, that the young lady was an 
inmate of the school opposite, he wrote 
her a note, intersoered with those deli- 
cate compliments which he was master 
of, thanking her for the beautiful flow- 
ers. Fearing there was »no other way 
to make her acquaintance, he ventured 
to request a meeting, as the shades of 
evening approached, near a bench with- 
in the enclosure which was removed 
some distance from the school. 

The first wrong step had been taken, 
the rest cost but few pangs of con- 
science. Mary received his note, and 
thinking it was no great harm after all, 
consented to the meeting. 

Although her imaginative mind cloth- 

ed the meeting with an air of romance, 
still as the time approached, her cour- 
age began to fail. Seeking to relieve 
and shield herself somewhat from the 
blame, she confided her secret to one of 
her dearest friends and entreated her to 
accompany her. She consented, and at 
the. appointed time, they met the actor 
at the appointed place. Neither in this 
position did the actor's talents fail him, 
by his pleasantry sentiment and candor, 
he soon dispelled Mary's fears, and ere 
they parted, they promised to meet 
alone next evening. They were not so 
fortunate as before, some of the girls 
strolling in this retired part of the en- 
closure, discovered them sitting on the 
bench together. Ascertaining her com- 
panion was one of the ac'ors, the secret 
was too great to be kept, and was soon 
spread throughout the whole school. — 
The report grew as it Avent from one of 
her schoolmates to another, until it wa*s 
confidently asserted that she intended 
to elope. This being the report, some 
of the girls thought it their duty to in- 
form the Principal. The old man was 
truly grieved. He sent for Mary im- 
mediately. Representing how wrong 
she had acted, he told her he was ob- 
liged to inform her father. Awakened 
to the full consciousness of her fault, 
frightened and grieved at the thought 
of her father's wrath and mother's sor- 
row, she was unable to appear among 
her schoolmates, in the solitude of her 
chamber she wept in silence. Her fath- 
er arrived the following week. Al- 
though he loved his daughter fondly, 
there was a dreadful struggle between 
his grief and rage. He told her she 
should return home immediately, that 
he inteuded to take her to the Catholic 



Convent at Georgetown. Cvuelly did 
poor Mary suffer. Bitter was the 
thought of leaving under the circum- 
stances so distressing, the nursery of 
her youth. None of her schoolmates, 
except a few of her particular friends, 
offered their sympathy, and instead of 
treating her misdemeanor as a mere 
freak of romance, with the accustomed 
charity of the world, they avoided her 
as something to be shunned. This cold- 
ness of her companions combined with 
the thought of meeting her mother, 
bore heavily on her heart, and when she 
parted with her teacher upon that 
threshold which she had entered a gay 
thoughtless girl, she sobbed aloud. 

The meeting with her mother, I will 
not try to describe, it was heart rend- 
ing,, it was a shock from which it 
is said, poor Mary never recovered. — 
Her father carried her on to George- 
town, the following week a!ter her re- 

No more was heard of her for two 
years, when it was announced in her 
native village, that she had returned 

with the consumption. This was cruel- 
ly true. Eveiy effort has been made 
by her friends to relieve her; but the 
bright, the lovely, the once light-heart- 
ed Mary, is passing away. Never more 
will her silvery laugh be heard, and as 
she looks up into the deep blue sky, she 
says, ere the winter comes again, her 
spirit shall have winged its flight to a 
better land. 

We will not say that her youthful 
freak brought on this disease. She 
committed no crime, but certain it is, 
her sensitive nature received a shock 
which wrought a mighty change both 
in her spirits and mind. "May violets 
bloom over her grave." 

The actor is now playing in one of 
the principal Theatres in New York, 
perfectly unconscious of having caused 
so much misery to the trusting school 
girl, merely for the gratification of his 
vanity. He seems, by the critic's ac- 
counts, to b6 confirming the promise of 
his youth, as they say he is destined to 
become a star of the first magnitude. 

— . 


Bright and glorious glowed the day — Spring 
Had thrown her velvet mantle o'er Nature's 

Charms — Balmv zephyrs played upon the ruf- 
Bosom of the Sound, and gently pressed her 
Murmuring lips against the pebbly strand — 
Twittering birds nestled in the shady boughs 

Of the rustling water-oaks, and Old Ocean 
As he neared, raised his snowy brow to view 
The scene — then poured his admiration 
On the sounding shore — Art marred not 
With itssacreligious hands the beauty 
Of the spot — Beneath the spreading trees 
A rustic seat looked sea-ward. There 
In beauty's bloom a maiden pensive sat 



And a youth with gaze of rapture knelt — 
A picture of imploring eloquence — With 
Cheek suffused, and down-cast eyes his passion- 
ed strain 
She heard — "Maiden pity," he cwed, "my 

From childhood's hour thou hast been my guid- 
ing star, 
The object of my prayers, and thoughts. Deep 
And boundless as that on which you gaze, 
Rolls the Ocean of my love— and that I speak. 
Not falsely— He is witness who formed them 

Paused his utterance at the diamond tear, 
The heaven of her eyes distilled— Her yielding 
Hand is clasped an both his own. " And wilt 

With thy love, these years of hope with bliss 
Eternal crown 1" — Hushed was the breeze, 
The leaves were still, a woman's vow to hear 
In silence — That vow was given, and through 
The soul of that fond youth, intensest thrills 
Of joy sent. Deep from his heart 
The struggling accents rose, but died upon 
His lips. Around her beauteous form 
His arm is thrown and fervid kisses 

Burn upon her cheek Enough, 

That scene is past and o'er — Profane 'twould 

To dwell upon it, and disturb the sacred ashes 
In memory's silent tomb. When vows are 

Alas ! that scenes like this should e'er occur. 
Why should Fashion, Virtue's foe forever be? 
In vice alone is pleasure to be found, that 
Even those its devotees should be, in whom 
We see the purest of our race ? Yet, pleasure 
E'en in Fashion's train not alway moves. 
The young and generous to deceive, and injure 
Ne'er yet was pleasant — But in these times 
'Tis more — 'tis Fashion— and at her gay 
And soul-less shrine, this maiden humbly 

He, the youth, who late bis love confessed 
(The unconscious victim of a senseless flii't,) 
By her is now contemned — though 'till they 

Again, he knows it not — They meet where 

Music's strain, the merry laugh, and flying 

Proclaim the dance — He, as wont, devoted, 
To her side with smile of pleasure 
Bends his steps — of all unmindful, save that 
She, the idol of his heart, is there 
That smile bangs doubtful on his changing 

When cold indifference sat upon her brow, 
And marked, unmoved, his presence — Still 
That, but a maiden's freak, a trial of his love, 
He thought or tried to think, and 'neath 
The ill-affected garb of mirth, his 
Swelling pride restrained — Thus, tho' unhap- 

He, his anxious fears allayed — " Can she 

My promised bride — the object of iny 

More than earthly love, to sacred vowa 

Prove false ? Beneath a form angelic, 

A brow so pure, and eyes from which 

The light of Heaven streams— can base deceit 

Abide ? Ah ! no. The thought is sinful, no 

Shall dwell within my mind." Poor youth I 
Ere yet one hour shall have passed, 
And all these hopeful words shall seem 
A bilter mockery— A tall, and handsome youth 
With flattering speech and tender glance 
The maiden now attends— While pausing 
At the shout of mirth some awkward dancer 
Caused — the first named youth, the maiden's 

Approached, and gently asked a boon— 
" That she would with him stroll, where 
Undisturbed, sweet converse they might hold." 
With whispered promise of " returning soon" 
The maiden to the tall youth bowed— then 
Coldly took the proffered arm — Their stroll 
Was short, for when the youth to speak 
Of Love began, and of their mutual vows, 
The maiden smiled aloud — then — pitied, 
Then "unkindest cut of all" — adoised 
Across the garden of his heart her withery 
Accents swept — its beauty blasting and his 
Cherished hopes — He was a duped, andverdant 

And she a heartless flirt — 'Twas then in loud 
And piteous accents he exclaimed — " Jerdin 
Is a hard road to travel — I believe." 



We are almost saddened at the siffiht 
of a brilliant meteor, wandering we 
know not whither, yet we sigh not, nor 
mourn; for well we know that the 
hand which made it, guides it ; and that 
its path res L s not on its own will. But 
truly and painfully sad are the feelings 
with which we watch the uprising of a 
gifted son of earth, whose steps have 
wandered as ; de from the truth, iiim 
we sigh, mourn, aye, and weep for. For 
he has that within him wherewith to 
live aright, and his path is his own to 

How like a stream is life ? the poet 
-says, "And how like floating barks are 
we ?" See the bark that rises off yon- 
der. It seems to bear an atmosphere 
of its own, so dark it is— hull, mast and 
sails, are all of (he same gloomy hue. 
Not one light spot relieves it, and even 
we breathe heavily as it approaches. — 
But dark and gloomy as is that bark 
without, it bears a world of wealth 
within. It sails from the land of Ophir 
— the goal of the Hebrew's dreams — 
yet its hull is leprous, and it is a wan- 
derer doomed. No port is open to it 
now. Such was the late Edgar A. 
Poe, and not as some have said, his 
life like a brilliant meteor, and his 
death, the setting sun cloaked in storm- 
clouds, which even in death he beats 
back. No, it was not so ; for the me- 
teor moves by fixed, though perhaps, 

inexplicable laws, and he was guided 1 
by his own will, and that was ever as 
variable as the wind. And the sun tpo 
in going down, goes not down forever ; 
but he, when he laid him down with) 
"the sleepers," rose up " never more." 
" Morn came, and went — and came"— 
but from "Poor Eddie," there came no 
joyous greeting, no merry laugh — for 
he had taken up his abode in the dark! 
tarn of Auber, " in a Kingdom by the 

Many there are, who, as they seek 
for his grave in an obscure corner of a 
Hospital Cemetery, will drop a tear of 
regret, and breathe a sigh that lie who 
was so nob!}'' gifted should be thus neg- 
lected. One gifted spirit has already 1 
sung in mystic numbers the lesson of 
remembrance so deeply engraven on! 
many hearts. While listening to the 
melody of the following lines, it were 
that we should learn the lessons the) 
teach : 

" Gently scan your brother man, 


Though he may gang a Kennin' wrang, 
To step aside is human." 

Remember there were those in whose 
prayers his name was ever woven — to! 
whom even in death his name is dear. 
Then '' let the faults of the dead buried 
with their bodies be." 

Strike the anthem, bards and brothers, 
Softly sweep your many lyres ; 



Let the low and solemn requiem 
Linger on the silver wires. 

One hath broken from jour number — 

Think not of his errors here — 
And hath laid him to a slumber, 

Beyond earthly hope or fear! 

One hath broken from your number, 

With harp of mightiest tone, 
And hath passed through death's dread slum- 

Onward to the eternal throne ! 

Let the turf press lightly on him. 

Lay his lyre upon his breast; 
And the laurels Fame had won him, 

Hang them o'er his place of rest. 

Though they bear many an earth stain, 
Death's dark stream should wash away, 

All the mildew clinging to thea, 
All the soiling of the clay ! 

Earth-stained laurels hanging heavy 
With the cold and midnight dew! 

Weep ye brothers, it is mournful 
Thus to decorate the yew ! 

Had the prayers of those availed him, 
O'er whose path his shadow fell, 

Darkening with its raven pinions 
Life's dim ray, it had been weil. 

But yet strike the anthem, brothers — 

Think not of his errors now, 
Mourn him, mourn his harpstring broken, 

And the crushed wreath on his brow. 


Take ye— take the scattered fragments. 

Lay them kindly at his breast, 
Of the lyre he swept so wildly — 

Let them mark his place oi rest ! 

Strike the anthem low and solemn, 

Let its mournful echo swell 
Through the "haunted woodland" openings 

Where the " Ghouls of Wicr" do dwell. 

O'er the dark tarn of '• Auber," 

Let its mournful echo swell, 
And through "cypress vales Titanic" — 

Paths his spirit loved 60 well ! 

Never more shall strains so mighty 

Wind along, 
Never more shall float such music, 

None could sweep the lyre like him. 

Strike the anthem then, ye brothers — 

Think not of his errors now — 
Mourn him — mourn his harp-string broken, 

And the crushed wreath on his brow. 


If the hackneyed assertion, that "this 
is an age of progress," be true, it is 
equally true, that in many respects, we 
are progressing in the wrong direction ; 
and no where is this down-hill move- 
ment more apparent, than in our pro- 

There was a time — if we may believe 
what our fathers tell us — when educat- 

ed men, and educated women spoke 
the English language grammatically, 
and pronunced it correctly ; and when 
it was considered a mark of ill breed- 
ing to fail in either of these particulars. 
But that time has passed away. We 
have made rapid advances in the de- 
velopment of that republican principle, 
" that all men are, and of right ought 



be, free and equal. 1 ' The invidious dis- 
tinctions of rant are melting' away, 
and in pronunciation at least, we are 
becoming decidedly " mobocratic." 
w "The Parlor has gone to the kitchen 
for names," and Bet.ty, Sally, Jenny, 
Molly, &c.,have been " genteelized" bv 
changing "y" into " ic." But the 
amalgamation has not stopped here; 
the parlor, despairing of raising the 
kitchen to its own level, and bent up- 
on equality, has determined to sink to 
the level of the kitclien. 

The first sacrifice was that of final 
"/?." This poor letter was most un- 
mercifully lopped off from the present 
participle, and all words ending in 
" ing" and we hear "polished " young 
gentlemen talking of " cloin nothin du- 
rin vacation but ridin about, huntin, 
fishin, and round the risin genera- 
tion of females." 

A young lady of refined taste and 
finished education speaks of being " ex- 
ceedinly fond of drawin, paintin, music 
and dancin ;" is decidedly of opinion 
that "readin makes a full man, talkin, a 
pleasant man, broadcloth, a good look- 
in man, and thinkin about money mak- 
in, a great man." 

Next we see the letter "r " banished 
fiom genteel society. Instead of "horse," 
the elite say " haus," almost univer- 
sal ly. 

So fearful are they of giving the rus- 
tic roll to the r, that they drop it alto- 
gether. We hear of "St. P eta's church," 
" Websla the great orala" and at the 
same time we are referred to " W / h/&aY' 
dictionary as the " standud " of pronun- 

A clergyman alludes to the poe man 

who lay befoe the rich man's doe, covud 
with soes. 

But worst of all, the unaccentj 
vowels are all pronounced like "it" 
"much." A man talks of hearing "j 
subble &vgumwnts brought fauwud on 
certain subject "which were sufB«'-«nf 
change his sentimunts." A profess 
warns his class against the "preva/w 
erra of supposing that t&lurit alone w 
make a man emmunt, without the 
of laba or systematic effut? He te 
them moreover, that fresh air and I 
tive exussize are the best medussuns 1 
a dyspeptic sludunt. 

Educated men, yea even professors' 
our Colleges, say " imposubble" ai 
" implacubble" " consonunt" and "e 1 
dunt" making no distinction betwe' 
a and i, but giving both the obscii 
sound of u. 

If a man talks about eating a " ro^ 
tud potato," or going to the "Post 
/its," or being " unquanftteZ" with ai 
particular " subjuct" we set him do\ 
at once as a clown, or at least conclui 
that he has not had early advantagi 
But why should " m&siud " or "sub/wc 1 
be worse than " sentiwtimi," or " offu: 
less genteel than " terrubbUP 

Now, my readers, let us rally rout 
the " King's English," and make a be 
stand against these detestable cockn 
innovations. Let us stem the tide 
mobocratic Yankeeism that is threats 
ing to sweep away correct pronunc* 
tion, and let us show to the world tli 
educated Carolinians can speak Engl? 
better than draymen and clod-hoppe 

If any of our readers disagree wi 
us, or think that we are sounding a fa) 
alarm, we refer them to the introdi 
tion to Walker's dictionary, No. 160- 
at the end — and No. 179. 





It was the night before W was 

H > leave for College, that he might be 
*n, with an air of dejection entering 

e house of . M resided 

ere, a beautiful and innocent creature, 
; b.o had won his affections by her 
tanning looks and fascinating man- 
ors. He came to bid her farewell, and 
was then and there that he experi- 
jCed for the first time, that two loves 
ire sleeping in two unconscious bo- 
ms. Those alone who have been 
aced in similar circumstances can 
; Jge of the feeling's which agitated his 
jljoy at the discovery, and regret 
u»t it was at such a time. 
'.With beating heart he knocks, is ad- 
tted, and ushered into the parlor. — 

: with all the dignity and grace 

her sex enters, and notwithstanding 
b| apparent gayety, the eager eyes of 

i , soon perceived a shade of sad- 

; is spread over her lovely features. He 
..rcely dared to ask himself, much less 
;•, the cause of her grief. Could it 
yfor him ? The thought thrilled him, 
i 1 his heart fluttered with a joyous, 
!l tabling hope. What must have 
jsn his sensations when he heard from 
[ own lips the confirmation of what 
'i, deemed bold thoughts and unfound- 
[ hopes. He must have felt that — 

*■ Some feelings are to mortals given, 
r ith less of earth in them than heaven." 

lours passed over the unconscious 

lovers, and it would be superfluous to 
say that they were * winded with plea. 
sure." But ihey must part.- To-mor- 
row — the departure — the preparation 
rushed upon their memory. 

" What business had they there at 
such a time ?" He arose. And must 
we part, cried the deeply affected mai- 
den ? It is hard to be separated— and 

perhaps forever ejaculated W . Oh. 

no, cried she, weeping, say not so, dear 

W , if you have any regard for try 

feelings. Have you never heard, "there 
is many a truth said in jest." The 
thought pains me, and the reality would 
break my heart. With his soul in his 
eyes, as if wooed there by these words 
of love, he gazed into the blue depth of 
hers. He is drawn to her side, her 
hand is in his, one kiss, farewell, ha 

murmured, and M is alone — 

" And joy and grief are hers to-night." 
Slowly W wends his way to- 
wards home. He is a new being, ano- 
ther world bursts on his vision. He 
was loved, and by the being of his 
choice. He had other farewells to say, 
but none that would affect him like 
this. He could annihilate all Colleges, 
and especially that one that tore him 
away from his dearest hopes. He 
reached home with these reflections,, 
and sought to bury his emotions in the 
embraces of sleep. But the drowsy g. d 
would not come at his wooing. M 



was before him her sweet, sad face and 

tearful eyes, and she 

" Was the ocean to the river of his thoughts." 

To-morrow comes — our hero departs 
for his destination, and on the second 
day he is at College. He sets out on 
his literary career with energy; for he 
was one of those who felt that College 
was not the place for idleness or frivol- 
ous amusements. For two months and 
a half, he pursued his studies with high 
success, when one day sitting in his 
rodm, he was suddenly seized with a 
thrilling and acute pain, and in a few 
hours he passed away from earih. The 
young, the beautiful, the joy of parents 
and friends. 

We will not attempt to describe the 
effect which the intelligence of his 
death produced on M . His fare- 
well words were prophetic. The hopes 

and joys of her youth were blighted 
and death soon came to her relief — 

" He lies on her, like the untimely frost 
Upon the sweetest flower of all the field." 

Who knows what lives are bound u 
in a student's life ? what hopes die wit 
him? Why should we not permi 
these holy affections to wreathe their 
selves around our hearts, and preserv 
them pure and undefiled ? Why shoul 
we not recognize them as ministerin, 
angels, warning us in the hour of tern]: 
tation, and pointing out the path th; 
leads to virtue and to God. Every nc 
ble sentiment must be dead in thf 
heart who feels not at times these swec 
influences stealing over it. Oh ! bu^ 
them not in the polluted grave of disSj 
pation. Would you deny a decei 
grave to your dearest friends ? Despit 
not their reproof, counsel and love. 


As man is a thinking, reasoning ani- 
mal, we might expect his social habits 
to correspond with his superior intel- 
lectual endowments. When a number 
of rational beings are collected together 
to please and be pleased, we might ex- 
pect to see mind quicken mind ; to see 
the du-ty, rusty coiners of their cra- 

niums thoroughly cleansed out, ai 
prepared for the reception of new ide 
and valuable truths. 

But this is far from being the ca; 
People seem to meet together for tj 
express purpose of making fools 
themselves ; and if so, they most j 
suredly accomplish their object. T! 



Reverse of Lord Monboddo's . .theory 
seems to be taking place, and men de- 
generating into monkeys. 

As one enters a crowded room at a 
.large party, and hears the confused 
.clatter of a hundred rattling tongues, 
be thinks that surely so much breath 
would not be wasted without the pro- 
duction of many valuable thoughts ; 
hat there must be innumerable brilliant 
sallies of wit to call forth such continu- 
ous peals of laughter. But " compress 
nto its Solid worth " all the conversa- 
tion brought forth on such occasions. 
"And ifit weigh the importance of a fly, 
The scales are false or Algebra a lie '." 
If my readers are inclined to disagree 
Vith me, let them but attend one of 
hese places of fashionable "tomfoole- 
y," and keep their eyes open, and they 
>ill be convinced it is even so. 

We will pass by the regular devotee 
f fashion; for the folly and heanless- 
ess of such a being is conceded on all 
ands. There is no difference of opin- 
>n among rational, sensible people con- 
fining the mother who leaves her 
precious darling'' wi h a nurse, to be 
osed with laudanum and paregoric, 
hile she is dancing till after midnight 
ith tipsy- fops. 

We will take our example's from 
:nong those who con iuer themselves 
specially wise, and look with mingled 
m and contempt upon those whom 
ature has not so abundantly blessed. 
' We enter a large parlor, and immedi- 
ely on our right, see a group of "old 
gies " telling anecdotes, and waiting 
lpntiently for supper; of course, they 

"Young America," dis, .laying all the 
beauties of "tights "and "slanders," 
on one side, and " lowueck— and — 
short sleeves" on the other. We get 
an introduction to a pretty young lady, 
and all our slock of "small talk " is 

immediately called into requisition. 

We are not so busily engaged, how- 
ever, that we cannot notice what our 
next neighbor is saying. After remark- 
ing upon the state of the weather for 
the last week or two, he compliments 
the lady's (ouqiu-t,and proceeds to di.- 
cuss the sentiments of the different flow- 
ers of which it is compos, d. After a 
number of profound botanical observa- 
tions upon the Leanty of ihc rose or the 
fragrance of the violet', he announces 
a remaikable discovery in botanical 
science, that lm^aud and wife can 
never both smell the Pe.sian Iris ! 

When this topic is exhausted, the 
dress, manners, and appearance of the 
rest of the company are thoroughly dis- 

By dint of pushing and edging, we 
make our way through lace and flounces 
till we reach an old acquaintance, a 
beautiful creature in the full bloom of 
early womanhood. Before her is a 
youth, whose manners and appearance 
decidedly prove bjrij a Junior. He de- 
clares that be has never been in love in 
hts life ; thai he has never yet seen the 
lady upon whom he was wiilmg to be- 
stow his affections. The young Jady 
exclaims— " Sir, I am as'onhdied tha't 
any one who has drunk deep at the 
fountain of knowledge, who has felt the 
; •■■■.-, inspiration of Genius prompting him in 

:z 7„d 3 : 7 r ni T so we ™ r md ™ d *£* »<£**£ 

and s„ on find „, se]vrfi sur . t„ a , fligl , t , shou , d „ ck „ owle(Igelliatlie 

has never felt the throbbing of a Lean !'' 

„v. ww.uvuvrc] sin- 

unded by a glorious assemblage of 



In vain the hapless youth protests that 
he can appreciate a fine poem or ad- 
mire a beautiful sunset as much as any 
bo'ly ; the irrevocable decree has gone 
forth ; she pronounces that if his soul 
were put into a tobacco seed and shaken, 

it would rattle !" " What Miss S ! 

you talking nonsense!"' " 0, yes, sir ; 
I am obliged to cto so in self defence at 
parties where there is no dancing." We 
then proceed to Philosophise on human 
follies in general, while the tenant of a 
broadcloth coat on our ri^ht is discant- 
ing upon female curiosity, and an un- 
pledged philosopher on our left is vehe- 
mently maintaining that "all men are 
fouls, and women are no better." Mean- 
while an exceedingly literary couple be- 
hind us are discussing the last novel. 

Now why should such a state of 
things exist in an enlightened commu- 
nity? Why should real intelligence 
and good serine be systematically ban- 
ished from the social circle ? The fault, 
we think, is with parents. Boys who 
ought to be under the wholesome re- 
straint of the master's lash, and girls 
who ought to be subjected to the eco- 
nomical, bread and water discipline of 
the boarding school, go into company 
as young gentlen en and young ladies. 
OF course, the presence of wiser people 
will be a restraint upon such shallow- 
brained simpletons, and therefore older 
persons must get out of the way and 
leave the field to "Young America." — 
It is impossible to draw blood from a 
turnip. We must not expect any thing 
to come out of a head which has no- 
thing in it. 

The educations of nine-tenths of the 
young people now-a-days, is very shal- 
low and superficial, and their intellects 

are still more so. A great number — 
perhaps a majority — of our young men 
carry nothing away from College with 
them, except a diploma and a bundle of 
idle habits contracted during four wast- 
ed years. A young lady, after spend- 
ing four years at a boarding school, 
getting a smattering of half a dozen 
" ics and oligies," and two or three an- 
cient and modern languages, and get- 
ting her head stuck full of silly notions 
completes her education at seventeen 
S e then goes into company, and never 
thinks any more of the improvement of 
her mind, and if she does, her literary 
aspirations seldom rise higher than to 
" keep up with the times." 

In order to do this, she devours an 
immense amount of this frothy, epheme- 
ral stuff, which pours like a torrent 
from the press every year. Such read- 
ing is enough to stultify the strongest 
mind ; no wonder then that it should 
upset a weak one. 

A man has but fairly begun his edu- 
cation after four years of diligent study 
at a preparatory school, and as many 
more at College. He is thus occupied 
eight years in merely laying the foun- 
dation of a liberal education. It is the 
prevailing opinion, on the other hand. 
that as much knowledge as any woman 
has any use for, can be acquired in four 
years, a large proportion of which time 
must be devoted to music, drawing, 
painting, <fec. 

Now, when we consider that society 
is governed almost entirely by ladies, 
and that their minds are frequently but 
ill-stored with information, it is not 
surprising that nonsensical "chit chat'' 
should take the place of conversation 
and that the impudent, half drunken 



dandy should supplant the man of real 

Poor human nature makes even a 
worse show at balls and dances than at 
conversational parties. We do not 
hesitate to assert that nowhere is more 
folly displayed than at a large ball ; 
and nowhere, where politeness is the 
order of the day, can we see more sel- 
fishness than at a little dance. 

The fireside is the place for real en- 
joyment. There we are not obliged to 

talk when we have nothing to say, and 
laugh when there is nothing to laugh 
at. There we are free from the re- 
straints of stiff starched etiquette, the 
deity of sapheaded fools. There we 
wear our true characters, and speak our 
true sentiments. 

" The tlythe hearth stane where croniea meet. 

And the dear ones o' our e'e, 
'Tis this that makes a warl' complele ; 

the ingleside for me !" 



It was a notion among the ancient phil- 
osophers, that there existed a certain re- 
semblance between the music of a nation 
and the nature of its government. For 
a long time this notion appeared to us, 
notwithstanding the respect that we 
have for all that the ancient have said 
and done, an absurdity ; but, on a closer 
examination of the subject, we have 
been compelled to admit that there is a 
very striking resemblance between the 
two. Are not all nations when unin- 
gaged in war technically considered as 
living in harmony ? Are not all di- 
plomatic affairs carried on by means of 
notes ? Are not all embassadors bound 
to lay a base for their negotiations ; and 
compelled to act according to the tenor 
of their instructions ? Do not all belli- 
Vot. IV.— 9. 

gerant powers, when tired of squander- 
ing the wealth of a nation and wasting 
the blood of a people, begin to approach 
each other by means of overtures P 
In conformity to last remark, it is a; 
common observation, that the gain or 
loss of a great battle makes the high 
contracting parties change their tone. 

In interior matters of national af- 
fairs, we find the oppositionists contin- 
ually exclaiming, that their legislators 
" have brought things to a very high' 
pitch, and endeavoring to make them-* 
sing small ;" while all propositions re- 
ceive their character from their relation 
to the motive ; and it is sufficient ob- 
jection to any reformation that it donH 
suit the time. 

But if any one doubts the influence 



of music on government, we beseech 
him to reflect upon the extraordinary 
effect of the Marseille's Hymn, which 
unsettled the wisest heads of France, 
and had almost "untuned the spheres." 
In England the power of " God save the 
King," and of " Rule Britannia," are 
well-known, and are enough to breed a 

It must be admitted in the abatement 
of this theory, that Nero was a desper- 
ate cruel King, and at the same time, 
that he was "a good stick at a scrape 
on a fiddle." With this and similar de- 
ductions which we are free to make, we 
consider our theory as abundantly es- 

The harmony of a government may 
be disturbed in two ways. The music 
itself may be bad, as in anarchical and 
despotic governments, or the music too 
good may be spoiled by bad perform- 
ance : this last may arise either from 
the incapacity of the legislator to keep 
lime with his band, or from stopping 
too fiat or too sharp, and thus throw- 
ing a 11 the performers wrong. Suc- 
cess in both arts depends a great deal 
on the quality of the instrument. The 
trumpet should not have a harsh, crack- 
ling sound ; the fiddle should be well 
strung, and the horn the best that 
could be afforded. Much, likewise, 
depends upon the management of cres 
cendoes and dimiuuendoes; let a sub- 
ject gently lie when it does not fit the 
humor of the times, -and not to strain 

the forte till it equals the New York 
opera, as if the whole house were rea- 
dy to follow in chorus. There is no- 
thing more important to either music 
or politics than that each individual 
should be adapted to the part he is to 
play. A financier may be termed the 
organ blower of a nation, and he should 
understand perfectly well how to raise 
the wind. A master of ordinance will 
be all the better to know smomething 
about the canons. Office-seekers ot the 
present day should be ready to take 
any part offered them, and should be 
able at all times to follow in a round 
with the greatest degree of facility. 

It is a part of an excellent policy to 
be always provided with a number of 
voices, which, when the subject lags, 
may fill a pause and run an extempore 
of any required length without break- 
ing down. Such instruments do good 
service, and make as much for the ben- 
efit of a legislator as for any other pub- 
lic speaker. 

There is much more that might be 
added in conformation of this musical 
theory of government ; but gentle rea- 
der, doubtless, you now require a rest, 
as well as we, ourselves ; it being full 
time for us to come to a pause, and 
that this conviction prove a bar, we 
forego a further extension of the sub- 
ject, and in order that we end in con 
spirito and not weaken our few remarks 
on this subject by a feeble coda, we 
stop here. 




What of the night— ho ! watcher there 

Upon that armed deck, 
That holds within its thunderous lair 

The last of Empire's wreck, 
E'en Hkn, whose capture now, the chain 

From captive earth shall smite, 
Ho ! rocked upon the roaring main, 

Watcher, what of the night? 

The stars are waning fast, the curl 

Of morning's coming breeze, 
Far in the east begins to furl 

Night's vapors from the seas. 
Her every shred of canvass spread 

The proud ship plunges free, 
While bears afar with stormy head 

Cape Ushant on her lee. 

At that last word, as trumpet stirred 

Forth in the dawning grey, 
A lonely man with step unheard, 

Made to the deck his way j 
And leaning o'er the poop he gazed 

Till on his straining view, 
That cloud-like speck of land upraised 

Distinct but slowly grew. 

Well may he gaze, until his frame 

Maddens to marble there. 
He risked renown's all grasping game, 

Dominion or Despair. 
And lo ! in vapours furled 

The last of that loved France 
For which his prowess cursed the world, 

Is dwindling from his glance. 

Rave on, thou wild resounding deep, 

Whose billows round him roll, 
Thou 'rt calmness to the storms that'sweep 

This moment o'er his soul. 
Black Chaos swims before him spread 

With trophy-shaping tones, 
The couucils's strife, the battle's dead, 

Rent charters, cloven thrones. • 

Say, Proud One, could the loftiest day 

Of thy transcendant power 
Match with the soul — compelling sway, 

That aids thee in this dreadful hour ; 
To hide beneath the show 

Of calmest lip and eye 
The Hell that wars ana! works below, 

The quenchless thirst to die ? 

The grey dawn crimsoned into morn ; 

The morning flashed to day, 
And the sun followed glory— borne 

Rejoicing on his way. 
Vet o'er the occaivs kindling flow 

That muser cast his view, 
While round him awed and silent stood 

His fate's devoted few. 
He lives perchance the past again, 

In that fierce hour, when first 
Upon the astounded hearts of men 

His meteor presence burst. 
When blood-besotted anarchy 

Sank quelled amid the roar 
Of thy far-reaching musketry, » 

Eventful Thermidor. 

Again he grasps the Victor's crown, 

Marengo's carnage yields, 
Or burst o'er Lodi breaking down 

Bavaria's thousand shields ; 
Then turning from the battle's sod 

Assumes the consul's palm, 
And seizes giant Empire's rod 

In solemn Notre Dame. 

But darker thoughts oppress him now ; 

Her ill requited love, 
Whose face as beauteous as her brow, 

Brought blessings from aboye. 
Her trampled heart, his darkening star, 

The cry of outraged man, 
And white tipped ruut and wolfish war 

Loud thundering on his van. 

Oh! for that sulphurous eve of June, 

When down the Belgian hill 
His bristling guard's superb platoon 

He Jed unbroken still 
How would he pause and quit their side 

Upon destruction's marge, 
Nor king-like share with desperate pride 

Their vainly glorious charge 1 

No, gladly forward would he dash « 

Amid that onset, on, 
Where booming shot and sabre clash, 
Pealed o'er his Empire gun. 
There 'neath his vanquished engles lost 

Should close his grand career, 
Girt by his slain and slaughtered host, 

He lives for fetters here. 

Enough, enough, in moontide's yellow light, 

Cape Ushant melts away. 
E'en as his kingdom's shattered might 

Shall utterly decay. 
Save where his spirit-stirring story 

In years remotely dim, x 
Warms some pale minstrel with his glory ; 

To pour a song for him. 

Chapel Hill, May 8th, 1854. 




Though we do not arrogate to ourselves 
the ability of the "'English Bards and 
Scotch Reviewers," we nevertheless, in- 
tend taking the position they occupied — 
that of critics — and doubtless like them, 
we shall get for our trouble and officious- 
ness, a pretty severe drubbing, from some 
young Byron, in our midst— (as yet how- 
ever, in embryo.) 

But we essentially differ from them in 
many respects. In the first place, and 
principally, our intentions are widely dif- 
ferent. Whilst theirs was the promptings 
of selfish ambition, that which " would 
drag angels down," the feelings of the 
miserable reptile, which, when it sees the 
noble young bird of Jove, first fledging 
his wings, and making those attempts at 
flying which too plainly prognosticate his 
etherial flight, writhes in its chagrin, and 
endeavors to retard his upward course by 
its loathsome coils and poisoned sting — 
ours is that wholesome pruning, which 
would lop off those dead branches which 
not only suck the sap from the tree, but 
so disfigure its symmetry and beauty. 

In the second place, we aim at different 
objects. Their shafts were directed at 
literary imperfections, and doubtless, their 
barbs were envenomed with malice and 
envy. While we on the other hand, in 
perfect good humor, but at the same time 
in earnest, intend to strike, at what we 
think faults in our social circle — at our- 
selves. And now, having fully set forth 
our position, we will plunge — in medias 

During a residence of four years in Col- 
lege, we have frequently bad our atten- 
tion called to the following fact, which we 

have, never till now, had the courage to 
openly condemn, probably from fear of 
the imputation of selfishness. 

But now that our College sands are well 
nigh run out, and satisfied as we are, that 
we can be accused of no such motive now, 
inasmuch as we can possibly gain nothing 
by it— we will boldly speak of an evil, the 
existence of which every man in College 
acknowledges, AND IN HIS HEART OB- 

We think there is not enough formali- 
ty and etiquette in College ! Understand 
us fully. Do us not the injustice, to sup- 
pose, that we would advocate the adop- 
tion, or recognition of any contemptible 
foppery or puppyish dandyism, nor again 
any far fetched conventionalities of fash- 
ionable life, nor that stiff-necked chivalry, 
which often "over-step3 the modesty of 
nature." The days of torn-foolery and 
Quixotism are past, and an era of com- 
mon sense has, we trust, assumed its 
reign. I hope our republican corps, are 
too well known to advocate any such 

But we do contend, and we are not 
alone in the belief, that there is a most 
decided want of madly, dignified form- 
ality in College, which is so essential ti> 
the character of a gentleman which alon» 
can generate mutual respect, and without 
which, the vitality of society is merely 
nominal. General Washington, and 
Chiel Justice Marshall were any but 
aristocrat.-, tlu-y, on the other hand, 
were beloved for tlu-ir urbanity, and 
their social and domestic virtues. — 
But there was an impenetrable some- 
thing, about them, beyond which no oae 



could go. It was their dignity in a- great 
degree, that made them the men that they 

Whilst, however, we are the disciples 
of Washington's politeness, we are not of 
Lord Chesterfield's. The cold, polished, 
icicle, foregoes the appellation of gentle- 
men, and deserves that of — fop. But it 
will probably be said, " would you have 
us become old men before we are boys'?" 
By no mear s ! Far be ic from us, to de- 
press the bouyant spirit of youth, and 
make cold the delightful intercourse which 
exists between College-boys, and which 
makes our College^days the happiest in 
our lives. We only wish to filter the 
the delicious honey, lest it vomit us with 
its sweetness. 

We are, or at least, should be, rather 
men than children in the University, for 
generally speaking, the most of us, after 
leaving here, have to encounter the diffi- 
culities and responsibilties of men, and 
consequently looked upon as such. Would 
it be amiss thenif we were to throw off 
our childish ways, to practise among our- 
selves the deportment of men, and extend 
to each other that defference and courtesy, 
which is the "open sesame" to polite so- 
ciety, the world over? 

Social intercourse, and the interchange 
of courtesy, serve to polish our manners, 
and refine our tastes, in fact, they are the 
germs of society, and the decline of the 
one is indicative of the downfall of the 
other. But just so soon as they are run 
into excess, then their legitimate aim is 
controverted, and a different result from 
that intended follows. The old and trite 
adages, "familiarity breeds contempt,'' 
'• distance lends enchantment," &c., &c, 
have much more truth than poetry in 
them, too much unlimited intercourse 
and unrestrained carelessness of all eti- 
quette, whilst our characters are forming, 
must of necessity generate, boorishness of 
manners, which, in an otherwise well- 

bred person, is considered by the man of 
the world as the most inexcusable of po- 
lite attainments. 

The tendency of these remarks must 
lead directly and plainly to the legitimate 
aim of them— COLLEGE VISITING.-- 
There is too much of it — it is too indis- 
criminate — it is pernicious both in its ten- 
dencies and .per se. - 

We all know that by the principle of 
Infinitesimals, things are judged and regu- 
lated by comparison. White is only white 
when compared with other colors, and a 
bright suu-shiny-day is enjoyed much 
more by having a cloudy day, now and 
then. We are so constituted that our na- 
ture recoils instinctively from any thing in 
excess. And this is strikingly so in Col- 
lege visiting. We, (the old-time folks 
used to say,) come to College to study, 
and once in a while, to relax our minds 
in agreeable intercourse with our friends, 
but, if a stranger, or even one of our- 
selves, were to give his opinion, he would 
be obliged to say, that we come to Col- 
lege to bore each other, and study once 
in a while by way of variety. There should 
be, by all means stated times for visiting; 
if such were the case, those hours would 
be looked forward to with anxiety ana 
pleasure, and friends skulking each other's 
company, could while away the tedium of 
College life, and burnish still more bright- 
ly the chain which bound them together. 

But instead of this being the custom 
and understanding, all times are used 
indiscriminately for visiting, and there is 
j.ri truth, not one hour of the day, 
that the University student can call his 

Thi3 should not be so. The text-books 
used, often require a long and continuous 
stretch of the mind, and when the student 
has by repeated efforts succeeded in chain- 
ing down his attention, in pops some 
miserable loafer, who not regarding the 
gentle hint of a locked-door, hammers 



away most perseveringly, and continues 
calling out, reminding us forcibly of a 

" Peri, who at the gate 

Of Eden stood disconsolate." 

until the martyr within is obliged to open 
his door in self-defence. 
. Again — we think College vi.-iting is too 
indiscriminate. " Be friendly with all, be 
intimate with few," is an excellent aphor- 
ism, and a fine exponent of the mind from 
which it emenatcd. 

We frequently hear the remark, " Col- 
lege is a SPLENDID place to study hu- 
man nature." Pshaw! "Study your 
text-books," as Mr. Calhoun once advised 
a promising young sprig here, who wrote 
to him, and asked him to " mark him out 
a course of reading. 1 ' Much has been 
said elsewhere about the selection of pro- 
per associates ; of that we shall say no- 
thing, not assuming in the slightest de- 
gree any dictatorial position, and heing 
moreover of the opinion that in all cases, 
it is more expedient to leave such matters 
to each one's free choice, and our sense of 
propriety. But we very much doubt 
whether a very extended circle of ac- 
quaintances is much calculated to engen- 
der that platonic affection, which is so de- 
sirable in binding closely those fVw, who 
deserve the name of FRIENDS. This 
brings us thirdly and finally, to our last 
assignable objection. It is pernic'ous in 
itself and in i s tendencies. 

General visiting, to the even partial 
neglect of a student's more legitimate du- 
ties is most certain to beget habits of idle- 
ness, indolence, and in many instances 
mischief; and in the meantime associa- 
tions may be entered into and habits 
formed, which prove a serious injury in 

We hope these remarks will be taken, 
as they are intended. After long observa- 
tion, are these conclusions arrived at, and 
they are made with the purest intentions) 

and in good humor. There are no per- 
sonalities indulged in, and no CUTS in- 
tended for any particular class of students) 

We hope they will be productive of 
much good not on account of any merit in 
themselves, but that like the cackling of 
the (other) Roman geese, they may awake 
the sleepers to their danger. 

Biographical Items, Incidents, etc 
etc, etc. — It is a pleasant duty, " the la- 
bor wc delight in "for the novelist to 
bring out in bold relief the virtues and 
fine points of his hero, and though con- 
scions it is but fiction— an idle phantasy 
—which is intended to touch the better 
feelings of his readers, and please their 
fancy, still his intimate association with 
his creation, makes such inroads upon his 
thoughts, that like the German metaphy- 
sician, he becomes wedded to it — his beau- 

But if the novelist experiences these emo- 
tions over the mere creature of his brain- 
vvhat must be the feelings of the truth 
telling biographer, as he recounts the ac- 
tual deeds and noble traits of his subject? 
The exploits of our Revolutionary heroes 
should be a subject, the bare mention of 
which would touch a chord of admiration 
and respect — I had almost said reverence. 
It should be a theme, near which memory 
loves to linger, and pay a passing tribute 
to the memory of those names who are 
synonomous with our liberties. It is said 
that, when in old times, a warrior fell in 
battle, a chnplet of flowers was placed on 
his grave. It was a beautiful custom, and 
a touching demonstration of the apprecia- 
tion of the deceased. Even in stern old 
Sparta, the pass of Thermopylae was 
looked upon as a sacred spot, and the 
inscription, "0, stranger, tell it at Lace- 
da3mon, that we died here in obedience to 
her laws," is still visible on the time worn 
monument erected there. 

But is this beautiful custom still in ex- 



istencel Alas! we must make the hu- 
miliating confession, it is not. Men of dis- 
interested motives, overflowing with the 
milk of human kindness, perform deeds 
unrequited, for which, in old times they 
would have been almost deified. 

We are too neglectful of our great men. 
Amidst the crash of spinning jennies, the 
gingle of coin, and the utilitarian spirit of 
the day, the soft and modest pleadings of 
virtue for her reward are fast stifling, and 
the generous fountains of the heart are 
sealing up. 

There were names of Revolutionary 
times, in North Carolina, that have silent- 
ly glided from the knowledge of men 
without scarce a passing tribute, and in no 
part of the State is that fact more lamen- 
tably true than in the Cape Fear region. 
But thanks to the perseverance of some, 
there seems to be a better day dawning. 
The Legislature at its late session created 
a new county, and called it after that il- 
lustrious patriot Cornelius Harnett. The 
act, though, simple in itself, was a grate- 
ful one to the people of that section, and 
shows that there is at least a disposition 
on their part to perpetuate the name of 
one of the greatest men of his day. 

But whiist we are grateful for this act 
of legislation, we ought to be under pe- 
culiar obligations to that individual, who 
" though he be not able to raise a suita- 
ble monument to the illustrious dead, yet 
desires to cast at least one stone upon the 
grave, with the ardent hope, that the pile 
will grow, by similar accessions until its 
head be lost in the clouds." 

Mr. Griffith McRee of Wilmington, a 
gentleman of no less elegant attainments 
than " Cape Fear feeling of '76," has lent 
the aid of his nervous pen, to bring up to 
our recollection the names of some revo- 
lutionary patriots who have been shame- 
fully neglected in our national histories. 

The name of Timothy Bloodworth, 
though well-known in Wilmington, is not 

as intimately associated with patriotism 
and virtue as it should be. For the bene- 
fit of those who have not seen Mr. Mc- 
Ree's t: Memoirs," (in the Wilmington 
Daily Herald,) we will subjoin a few of 
the leading facts of his history. 

" Timothy Bloodworth was born (of 
English parentage,) in New Hanover 
county." Of his private character, " he 
was distinguished for his acquisitive mind 
and the variability of his talents." He 
was a member of the House of Commons t 
in 1779; and the Continental Congress 
in 1786-'87 ; and also a Senator in the 
State Legislature in 1788. Of the Con- 
vention on the adopJon on the Federal 
.Constitution, convened at Hillsborough, 
July 21st, 1788, Mr. B. was an active 
member. "Of his oratorical powers, Mr. 
McRee speaks — "He could not electrify 
the Hall by bursts of oratory, he could 
not grasp the nerves of the heart, like a 
master the strings of the harp, but with 
instinctive sagacity, he fastened upon the 
points where danger seemed to lurk." Of 
his love of freedom the biographer writes 
— "As a mother presses her new-bom 
babe to her bosom, as she startles at the 
thought of peril, as she folds its robe about 
it, that the wind may not visit its cheek too 
roughly, even so did Mr. Bloodworth re- 
gard the recently regained liberties of the 
people, with a love as jealous and un- 

Some of his political principles are thu» 
set forth — He distrusted the control given 
to Congress over e'ections — he thought 
that trials by jury were not sufficiently 
secured in civil causes in the Federal 
Courts. And that great precaution should 
be used in granting powers — He feared 
the sovereignty of the Federal Goverment 
would annihilate that of the States, that 
the powers of Congress would prove dan- 
gerous to State-laws. He thought that 
Northern and Southern interests divide at 
the Susquehannah. Time has yet to de- 



lermine how far right or wrong he was." 
9 He represented the Wilmington District 
in Congress in- 1790-91. He was Sena- 
tor in Congress from North Carolina from 
1795 to 1801. The last office of public 
trnst he held was Collector of Customs for 
the port of Wilmington." 

Cornelius Harnett. — Mr. McRee has 
also written a biographical sketch of Cor- 
?*f nelius Harnett emphatically the " Cape 
' Fear Hero." And whilst we blush to ac- 

knowledge that Wilmington has not p^id 
those sepulchral honors to the dead which 
his actions deserve, we with pleasure no- 
ticed a resolution of the ''Wilmington 
Historical Society," a short time ago to 
erect suitable monuments to the memc» 
ry not only of Harnett, but also of Lilling- 
ton, Moore,and Howe, who were his brave 
associates. " Cornelius Harnett was born 
20lh April, 1723." " He was born in the 
land of Sydney and Hampden," and in- 
spired by their principles, he transplant 
ed the drooping germ which tiiey watered 
with their blood to a more genial soil where 
«t now blooms in luxuriance and beauty. 
Coming to N. C. when almost an infant, he 
may be with propriety considered as a 
native of it, and happy be she when she 
can be able to number many such in her 
family-circle. Nursed in the cradle of 
chivalry, he never disgraced the spurs 
with which he was knighted — ushered in- 
to political existence when there was a 
need of " good men and true," he at once 
assumed and maintained a position, char- 
acterized by consistency, an inordinate 
love of liberty, and a corresponding opposi- 
tion to oppression. At the first tap of the 
drum he fell into ranks, and always led 
the van both in debate and battle. Mr. 
H. possessed the confidence of the peo- 
ple to an extent that seems incredible. — 
So impressed were they with his integrity 
and patriotism, that there was no preposi- 
tion made without getting his consent and 

co-operation — no Committee of which he 
was not the Chairman — no petition for re« 
dress of grievances — no declaration of 
rights of which he was not the author. — 
And in proportion as he was dear to the 
patriots ; was he odious to the British. In 
evidence of their hatred of him, we extract 
the following fact. " When Gen. Clinton 
came South, and whitened the waters of 
the Cape Fear with the sails of his fleet, 
he issued from the Pallas Transport, a pro. 
clamation to the people of North Carolina, 
offering a general pardon to all who should 
recant their political heresies, and return 
to their allegiance to their King, with the 
exception of Robt. Howe and Cornelius 

Mr. Harnett held every post of honor 
and trust that a confiding people could 
confer upon him, and never did he prove 
unworthy of, or betray the confidence re- 
posed in him. So high an estimate did 
the State at large place upon his legislative 
powers that — "In the year 1770— '71, Mr. 
Harnett represented the borough of Wil- 
mington in the Provincial Assembly. In 
1772, Gov. Martin appointed under the 
royal authority, Commissioners to run the 
Southern boundary in the Province. The 
measure was censured by the popular 
House, and Cornelius Harnett, Robert 
Howe, and Maurice Moore were consti- 
tuted a Committee to prepare a remon- 
strance to His Majesty King George. — 
On December 4th, the Assembly met in 
Newberne, and Mr. H. was placed on the 
Committee of Correspondence. In 1774, 
he was of that band of patriots Hender- 
son, Burke, Ashe, Johnston Nash, Ire- 
dell, Moore, and others who resisted 
the demand of the British Government, for 
establishing a Court system, favoring the 
inhabitants of the mother country, to the 
exclusion of creditors this side of the At- 
lantic. Nov. 23, 1774, the freeholders of 
the Town of Wilmington met at the Court 
House and appointed a Committee of Safe- 



ty with Harnett at its head. Subsequent- 
ly a joint Committee from the County of 
New Hanover was appointed to co-ope- 
rate with the Town Committee. Of this 
body consisting of some of the first men 
of the day, Mr. H. was confessedly the 
master-spirit — the centre of the circle — 
its very soul. 

In 1775, occurred the downfall of the 
Royal Government in North Carolina; 
and at the meeting of the Provincial Con- 
gress at Johnston Court House, Mr. Har- 
nett was chosen to discharge the duties of 
the Executive Department of North Caro- 
lina — virtual Governor — to fill the vacan- 
cy occasioned by the flight of Governor 
Martin. On April 12, 1776, (an era to be 
remembered by all North Carolinians) in 
the Provincial Congress at Halifax, Cor- 
nelius Harnett, made that famous" Re- 

winding up with the following resolu- 
tion : 

* * * Resolved, " That the Delegates for this 
Colony in the Continental Congress, be em- 
powered to concur with the Delegates of the 
other Colonies in DECLARING Independence, 
and forming Foreign Alliances, reserving to 
this Colony the sole and exclusive right-of 
forming a Constitution and Laws for this Colo- 
ny ; and of appointing Delegates from time to 
time, (under the direction of a general repre- 
sentation thereof) to meet the Delegates of the 
other Colonies, for such purpose, as shall be 
hereafter pointed out." 

But, it is needless to enumerate the po- 
sitions he held during those troublesome 
times, suffice it to say, that he Was incom- 
parably the first man of the Cape Fear coun- 
try, and second to none in the State, being 
as Josiah Quincy called him " the Samuel 
Adams of North Carolina." But after a 
life of self-devotion, and chivalrous patri- 
otism seldom to be met with, he went the 
way of all flesh, and now sleeps quietly on 
the banks of that river, whose name he so 
honorably upheld whilst living. " In the 
Northeast Corner of St. James' Church- 
yard in Wilmington, lies the body of one 

than whom, a nobler and purer patriot 
nevei lived. The rank-grass grows over 
his grave, and almost hides it from view, 
^s if it would conceal from the stranger 
the forgetfulness and ingratitude of the 
town. Two simple brown, discol- 
ored by age mark the spot— upon the 
largest, which is an upright slab, is inscrib- 
ed : 


DIED APRIL 20TH, 1781. 

Aged 58 years. 

" Slave to no sect, he took no private road, 
Butlooked through nature, up to nature's God.' 

But whilst we see much to admire in 
this man, a devoted and unselfish patriot- 
ism — a scrupulous observance of honor 
and honesty — an uncommon share of do- 
mestic and social virtues— still there was a 
stain upon his character, a frailty rather 
than a fault, which we should rather la- 
ment, than censure— he lived and died an 
Initd!' l. He obtruded his views upon no 
one, strenuously fought for freedom of 
conscience, but w T rapt in his cloak of infi- 
delity, he laid him down to sleep, without 
having the blessed hope of an immortal 
and shining light, to guide him " through 
the dark valley of the shadow of death." 

But let us fondly hope that in the hum- 
ble and unpretending grave where Harnett 
is now sleeping, that his frailities and im- 
perfections may be, buried, that oblivion 
may draw a friendly veil over them, and 
transmit to posterity nought but his vir- 

" When cold in the earth, lies the friend thou 

hast loved, 
Be his faults and his follies forgot by thee 

Or, if from their slumber, the veil be removed, 
Weep o'er them in silence and close it again." 

" Biographical Sketch of Charles 
Manly, late Governor of N. C, by 
James M. Cleveland." — This article, 
kindly handed to us by Gov. Swain, we 



with pleasure insert, forbearing to make 
any comments, as the name of GOVER- 
NOR MANLY is so well-known to our 
readers as to render unnecessary any in- 
troductory remarks of ours. 



" Basil Manly, the father of the subject of 
this Sketch, was born and raised in St. Mary's 
County, Maryland. He removed to North Car- 
olina Iffare the American Revolution, settled 
in the County of Bladen, and was a bold and 
active partizan Officer, holding the commission 
of Captain in the Militia services during the 

"He married Elizabeth Maultsby, of Bladen; 
and, on account of ill health, removed to the 
County of Chatham, where he died in the year 
1S24, at a very advanced age— universally res- 
pected as a man of great decision of character, 
of high moral courage, and the most inflexible 
love of justice and honesty. Having enjoyed 
but very limited means of education himself, 
and witnessed, during the stormy period of the 
Revolution and the years which followed, the 
signal advantages possessed by men of letters, 
he devoted all the energies of an industrious 
and frugal life to the bestowal on his sons of a 
liberal education. He lived to accomplish, 
with great gratification, this cherished object 
of his heart; and his pious amiable widow — a 
woman of extraordinary mental endowments 
— still survives, to rejoice at the results of their 
joint efforts and sacrifices and prayers, in wit- 
nessing the eminent success in life of their 
three sons : — Charles Mnuly, the late Governor 
of North Carolina ; Basil Manly, who was gra- 
duated at the South Carolina College, at Co- 
lumbia, w r ith the highest honors of the Institu- 
tion, and is now President of the Alabama 
University ; and Matthias Evans Manly, who 
was graduated at the University of North Car- 
olina, with the highest honors of that Institu- 
tion, and is now, and has been for several 
years, one of the Judges of the Superior Courts 
of Law and Equity in the State. 

Charles Manly, the oldest son, was born in 
the County of Chatham, on the 13th day of 
May, 1795. He was prepared for College by 
that excellent classical scholar, and rigid dis- 
ciplinarian, the late Rev. William Bingham, at 
the Pittsboro' Academy, and entered the Uni- 
versity, at Chapel Hill, in the year 1811. Dur_ 
ing the whole of his college course, he received 

the first distinction in all his classes, was re- 
garded as one of the best declaimers in college, 
and graduated in 1814, with the first honor of 
the senior class. 

" The late John Haywood, of Raleigh, at- 
tended the Commencement of that year, as one 
of the Visiting Trustees, and, attracted by the 
college reputation of this young man, engaged 
him as a private tutor for his sons. > 

" This situation was highly acceptable and j 
advantageous to young Manly ; for, besides en- | 
joying the favorable regard and friendship of 
Mr. Haywood, the most popular and influen- 
tial man of that day in the State, he thus pro- 
cured means, without calling upon the narrow 
income of his father, to prosecute the study of 
law. He continued in this double occupation 
for two years, and still cherishes, with undi- 
minished respect and affection, the memory of 
his early friend and patron, that great and 
good man, the late John Haywood. 

" He was admitted to the bar in 1816, and to 
practice in the Superior Courts in 1817. Dur- 
ing the latter year, he was married to Miss 
Charity H. Haywood, daughter of William 
Henry Haywood, and thereupon settled per- 
manently in the city of Raleigh, and commenc- 
ed the practice of law. 

"Soon after coming to the bar, he was elect- 
ed by the Justices, over a popular competitor, 
County Attorney for Chatham, the duties of 
which station he discharged very acceptably to 
all concerned, for many years, until he resign- 

"Upon the death of General Robert Wil- 
liams, he was appointed his successor as Trea- 
surer of the Board of Trustees of the Universi- 
ty ; and, in that capacity, has been signally in- 
strumental in so arranging and managing the 
finances of the Institution as to place her in a 
position of eminent prosperity. 

" During the sitting of the Legislature in 
1823, the reading Clerk of the House of Com- 
mons resigned. The late John Stanly, then a 
prominent member of that body, sent immedi. 
ately for Mr. Manly, and after a short consulta- 
tion nominated him for the office. He was 
elected, and continued for many successive 
sessions, by unanimous re-appointment, to dis- 
charge the duties of that station. He was sub- 
sequently elected Chief Clerk of the House of 
Commons, which office he held, always with- 
out opposition, until the year 1S42, when the 
Democratic party having a majority, dismissed 
him, together with the other Wbig officers of 
the House. At the ensuing election, under a 



Whig dynasty, he was re-elected Chief Clerk, 
and so continued until he resigned in 1848. 

" In the year 1323, the joint American and 
British Commission established under that ar- 
ticle of the treaty of Ghent relative to the 
claims of American citizens for slaves and oth- 
er propei'ty taken awiy by the British, during 
the war of 1812, assembled in the City of "Wash- 
ington : Langdon Cheves, of South Carolina, 
and Henry Seawell, of North Carolina, being 
On the American side, and George Jackson and 
John McTavish on the British side of said 
Commission. This body appointed Charles 
Manly, Clerk to the Commission. This 
post, connected as it was with the Di- 
plomatic corps at Washington, was a very 
a very desirable one to a young man. It afford- 
ed him a passport to the best society, and ena- 
bled him to form the a^quiantance of many of 
the most eminent men of that day. Mr. Man- 
ly held this place for twelve months, when, 
discovering that it interfered materially with 
his professional pursuits, he resigned it with 
great regret. He now devoted himself to his 
profession with ardor and success. 

" The Alumni Association of the University 
invited Mr. Manly to deliver the first "Annual 
Address " before that body, at the College 
Commencement of 1888. The invitation was 
accepted on very short notice, yet the Address 
and style of delivery will be long remembered 
by the crowded auditory present on that occa- 
sion, as one of the very happiest efforts of 
chaste as well as popular elocution. 

" Unambitious of political distinction, he 
was never a candidate before the people for 
any office until the year 1840, when he was 
elected a whig elector of President and Vice 
President of the United States; and in the 
Electoral College of that year cast the vote of 
North Carolina for William H. Harrison and 
John Tyler. 

" During the heated political campaigns of 
1840 and 1844, Mr. Manly was a decided but 
not vindictive partizan, and rendered efficient 
service to his party as a member of the Whig 
Central Committee, and as Chairman of that 
committee in the memorable campaign of 

"In the year 1848, without the employment 
on his part of those electioneering arts some- 
times practiced, he was nominated by the Whig 
Convention as their candidate for Governor of 
the State. The election being by popular suf- 
frage, he canvassed the State with great satis- 
faction to his friends, and with marked ability, 
and was elected. He was installed into the 

office of Governor on the first day of January- 
1849, and served his constitutional term of two 
years. In 1850, he was agaiu unanimously 
nominated by the Whig Convention for re-elec- 
tion. In consequence of that want of ardor in 
a party confident of victory, as well as some 
sectional divisions in the Whig ranks on ques- 
tions of State policy, he was beaten by the 
Hon. David S. Beid, his Democratic competi- 

"Governor Manly, in the vigor of health 
and mature age, has resumed the practice of 
his profession. Greitly distinguished for his 
social virtues, of benevolent disposition, of ur- 
bane and polished manners, beloved at home 
and respected by all, in the enjoyment of a 
competency secured by honest industry, econo- 
my, and prudence in his affairs, he lives the 
unaffected examplar of a well-bred gentleman 
and a good citizen. 

Review of New Books — Original Poe- 
try, Clippings, etc. 

Alone — A Novel — By Marion Har- 
land. — Here conies a book, trumpeted 
throughout the length and breadth of our 
land as one of the first novels of the day. 
We sat down to it, as to a "■ rich feast, 
laden with wine — with fat wine on the 
lees," and arose disappointed. Truly 
there are, who seem to be born ',' favorites 
of fate," and among them we are inclined 
to place Miss Harland. To be in the 
fashion, we endeavored to discover her 
claims to the highest rank among Ameri- 
can novel writers of the present age ; but 
through three hundred and eighty-four 
p-iges of "Alone," and eight pages of the 
opinions of the press, we could not find it. 
The latter, excepting a dissentiment in 
the Methodist Quarterlv Review, are cov- 
ered with that stuff which " raises mortals 
to the skies." The Rev. modestly ob- 
jects, " that some of its conversational sal- 
lies are too strongly marked by passion 
and hyperbole(!), and that the chapter on 
the rocky Mount meeting, appears to con- 
tain a sarcastic fling at revivals of relig- 

The prelude to Alone is a grave-yard, 



sincere mourners, &c, &c. This is very 
well premised, and finely executed. We 
are brought to realize the condition of the 
orphan — beautiful, fifteen — alone — 

" Alone— alone, all — all alone — 
Alone on a wide— wide sea ; 
And never a saint took pity on 
My soul in agony." 

But the sincere mourners go about their 
business, and we find Ida Ross under the 
guardian care of Mr. Read and daughter, 
who both seem well read in world craft. 
Any one can see the object of this antithe- 
sis at once, and the effect is unpleasant. 

We have neither time nor inclination to 
enter upon an analysis of the book. We 
would simply hint that the very opening 
of the plot presents some phenomena, 
which, if not impossible, are, at least, very 

The youthful Ida soon forgets the senti- 
ments which must have been instilled into 
her breast by a religious and loving moth- 
er, and is an overmatch in meanness for 
Mr. Read and Miss Josephine. For an 
Al-bon-i affair she assumes the oratorical 
attitude — her form dilated, her breast heav- 
ing, her eyes flashing, and pours a flood 
of feminine invective on the devoted head 
of Mr. Read. And after the spell is off, 
we are almost tempted to echo the words 
of the thunder-struck guardian — " Is the 
girl mad in good earnest?" 

We have a saving clause in the dedica- 
tion about '"artistic skill in the plot." — 
This is well. For we may console our- 
selves with the fact that the authoress 
knew better, but did not deem it necessary 
to show her "artistic skill " in this pro- 
duction. She meant to copy nature, pure 
and truthful. To this we owe the pain- 
ful prominency of nearly all the characters. 
With a true F. F. V. instinct, each strug- 
gles for the highest place, even to the 
grandiloquent Mr. Finely. Mr. Lacy's 
moralizing brought on a fit of yawning, 

Charley's eccentricities something akin to 
disgust, and we absolutely sickened of the 
" Dana Clique." After careful perusal, 
we would sum up our impressions some- 
what as follows : — " Alone," over-rated, 
a little in it that is passable, much that is 
trite ; a constant oscillation between bom- 
bast and bathos; much sentimentality and 
tweedle twaddle, and as deficient in natu- 
ral as in artistic delineation. 

The call for a sixth edition bespeaks its 
popularity, and its religious tone explains 

So struck are we with the beauty of the 
following piece, taken from an exchange, 
that we insert it : 


In the dim crypts of the heart, where des- 
pair abideth, these words seem written. A; 
strange meaning — a solemn intimation unfolds! 
itself at their utterance. Four monosyllables 
— how much of gloom ye convey. How ye 
speak in funeral tones of the extinguishment 
of earthly hope — of the spirit that has strug- 
gled in vain, and is painfully quiet now, 

" When I am dead !" is uttered calmly ; but 
what a calm — such as the tornado leaves whec 
silence bro<>ds over desolation. 

The voice pronouncing the despairing phrase 
has not all the mournfulness from itself. The 
listening ear hears something more ; for from 
those words the groan of high aspiration 
quenched, and hopes pale and" bleeding upon 
the sharp rocks of adversity, come up phantom 
like, amid the ghastly scenes of the buried 

" When I am dead !" We have heard it of- 
ten like the pealing bell that tolls the body of 
the departed to its final rest. The last word 
" dead," lingers straDgely, and echoes sadly in 
the ear, and through the portals of the sympa- 
thizing soul. Dead — dead — dead — and the 
world grows gray, and the heart stills, and the 
eye moistens, to that mysterous sound. 

The spirit trembles before the rushing flood 
of conflicting emotions which follow the dark 
echo, and essay to glance through its import. 
But the echo fades amid encircling mists, and 
the spirit turns back confused with blind- 

Even the echo of death cannot be penetrated 



; The few feet of mould that composes the grave, 
are wider than the globe, higher than the stars. 
JTot the mind's eye, nor the anxious soul can 
glance through the barrier— the boundary be- 
tween Time and Eternity. 

" When I am dead." More or less'signifies 
resignation or dependent wo, a fulfilment of 
nature, or a perversion of its end, may these 
words express, though sad they are at best. 

When the aged man, whose steps have grown 
feeble in the walks of goodness, and whose 

i hands tremble, with the fruits of his oft given 
charity, utters these words, they fall from his 
lips as a prayer in heaven. In them his will 
harmonizes with his destiny; and the tear 
that starts f >r a superior soul above, to leave 
its clay, glistens in the light of happiness that 
gleams outjof the heart, at the prospective re- 

• ward of the future. 

The lips, too, that never pressed the rim of 
the fount of Nature's Poesy, may murmur, 

i " When I am dead !" but death to such au one 
is better, perhaps than life. His heart holds no 
music, chiming in cadences to weal and wo — 
his inward existence is void, and the rough 

< surface of his being checkered, though not 

j brightened by the half stray thoughts, darkens 
but little with the panoply of the tomb. 

How different, when youth, glowiBg with 
beauty of soul and heart, rich with the trea- 
sures of mind, and warm with sympathy for all 
of loveliness, sighs, like the south wind, — 
" When I am dead." A spirit seems to wail 
its anthem, and an eclipse of the noontide sun 
to fall upon the picture of a high nature check- 
ed in its purpose— turned from dulcet waves 
upon a coral reef, against the rocks of a destruc- 
tive shore. 

"When I am dead!" It is as mournful as 
the plaint of a ghost on the tempest and mid- 
night wind. But we must all say it sometime ; 
for the grave lies at hand, yawning through 

i a bed of thorns, or gleaming like a white avenue 

: of hope leaning against the stars. 

" When I am dead!" Strange and fearful 
import hath it to the uiterer, but it is a weak 
phrase only to others, the great world. Who 
speaks it V many think the single going forth of 

i a soul will move none — all will be as be- 

When he, and you, and we, gentle reader, 
are folded in our shrouds, friends dearest and 
those who loved us best, will flow. The heart 
that beats with rapture against our own, will 
freeze above our memory in a brief time — brief- 
er than woman's trust, or man's period of good- 

But it is well thus: tis the world's custom 
and nature's law. We weep not for the dead 
but while they die. We shall not be with them; 
and it may be good, we go early to their nar- 
row homes. 

By use unfitted and by nature more, 
Shall I, forsooth, the giddy heights explore ; 
Essay to climb with labor and with pain 
The steep which men of parts with ease attain 
Forbear, ye critics — let your censure smite 
A foe more worthy, and a theme more trite. 
In happier days, when "beauty's pensive eye 
Ask'd from your heart the homage of a sigh," 
Remember now, how ye essayed to move 
Your prosy mind to forge the lay of love ; 
And sympathy '11 usurp the critic's place, 
Each error pardon, and each fault efface. 
But here defence I cease ; for what doth need 
Another's pity must be poor indeed ; 
And what is goodly in itself, should go 
Forth to the world, without excuse in tow 
My numbers then, I to the breezes fling 
For weal or wo. — 'Tis of the Pipe I sing — 
A friend to all, it is our first design, 
To show its power o'er the youthful mind : — 
Then when the youth to man's estate has 

And boyhood's years to "ages past have flown." 
'Tis ours to show how happily it throws 
A gleam of sunshine o'er life's varied woes : — 
And when at length the hand of time is seen 
In hoary ringlets and decrepit mien, 
Its cheering power we will sing again, 
If not in smooth, at least in grateful strain. 

'Tis bleak December, and the winds in play 
Through crack and cranny urge an easy way 
While to its force the ice-bound branches yield, 
And flocks unsheltered wanton o'er the field. 
Mark the lone student, as he seeks to find 
The hidden meaning of some obscure line, 
His napless vesture, backless books, and torn 
And room ill furnished, show a lot forlorn. 
In vain, alas ! he ponders o'er the page, 
Then muttering curses on the stupid sage, 
He lays with nervous hand the volume by, 
And on the embers turns his restless eye, 
Musing thus, his 'customed pipe he takes, 
And in the bowl a living coal he rakes — 
Then as the smoke ascends through middle air 
His mental forces for the war prepare 
Anew ; — as joins in battle hostile foes, 
In doubtful conflict mind and matter close, 
Till in his brightened eye and face serene 



You read his triumph and his joy, I ween, 

His labor over, fancy lends her aid, 

And want and sorrow in the distance fade, 

While wreaths of smoke encircle his pale brow, 

Along time's pathway golden visions glow.— 

The friendless student's now the man of state, 

And noisy rabbles on his footsteps wait; 

His country's history's pregnant with his name, 

And distant ages will his fame proclaim. 

'Mid thoughts like these the laboring student 

His joy and comfort, nor his lot repines ; 
Then gently lays him down and dreams anew, 
The glowing scenes his fevered fancy drew. 

In western sky the smiling orb of day, 
Sinks slow to rest, aud his last lingering ray 
With rosy tints adorns the sluggish cloud 
Ere night enfolds us in her sable shroud. 
Relieved from toil the former hasles to find 
In happy home that joy and peace of mind, 
Which is the part of married life to give, 
Which many hope for, but which few receive. 
The busy housewife, with providing care, 
Substantial viands for the lord prepare, 
As round the hearth the cat in sober mood, 
And whining hound, await their share of food. 
His hunger, 'peased the wonted pipe attends, 
And as the smoke in lazy ring ascends, 
Schemes of to-morrow wanton through his 

And dreams of riches hold their willing reign. 
But as his little ones about his knee, 
Play and prattle in their heart-felt glee, 
Watching the circles as they upward rise, 
In silent wonder or with glad surprise, 
His dreams of lucre wiug away their flight, 
As kindlier feeling , kindlier thoughts invite, 
And while the smoke in rapid circle moves, 
His fortune praises and his lot approves, 
Blest with plenty and with friends like these, 
No more I wish for in my happy ease ; 
Let others seek to guide the conquering car, 
And earn a bubble in tumultuous war, 
Or with the voice of eloquence relate 
The future glories of the growing state ; 
Or from the jaws of endless misery win 
Souls now withering in the grnsp of siu. 
Blest as I am, I'll be content to stray, 
With humble footsteps o'er life's chequered 

Pre heard it said the earth born giants strove, 
Once on a time to storm the throne of Jove, 
With brawny arms the ponderous rock they 

And Ossa and Pelion on each other fling, 

In lively scorn the monarch heid their toil, 
Nor sought he then their vain attempts to foil. 
Of wealth and fashion, rear at thy command, 
Temples superb, but not in them are found, 
(Where ribbons flutter and loud organs sound. 
Where maidens go their lover's forms 10 view ; 
Where lovers go to see their maids so true ; 
Where matrons go, arrayed in lace and pride 
To show their charms and others to deride ; 
Where, in a word, the flesh in splendor shines, 
But where the soul in nakedness repines,) 
The noblest of all things — a God-like mind, 
Proof 'gainst the snares of all the world com- I 

By goodly culture oft a poorer soil, 
With richer harvest crowns the farmer's toil, 
And thus we find the grace religion gives 
In lowly minds more fitting place receives 
Than in the breasts of those whose only care 
Is how to spend with ease the passing year, 
In yon white cottage that is scarcely seen, 
Embosomed low amid the leafy green, 
Its gray-haired sire I see, whose pious fade 
Shines with the glory of redeeming grace. 
His scanty hair, white as the driven snow 
In waving ringlets reach his neck below; 
Upon his knees two rods of birchwood lay 
To guide his footsteps tottering with decay. 
And last of all, but not the least, I ween 
A well charged pipe within his hand is seen, 
Which he enjoys full soon — and as the breeze 
Wafts on the vapor through the leafy trees, 
As cloud on cloud appears then melts away, 
Communing with himself the holy man would 

"Like these, the anxious cares of life's brief day, 
As vain, as flecti ig as the smoke doth seem, 
As vain, as fleeting is our earthly dream." 
But when the hillock grew to mountain size, 
His forked lightnings flash along the skies, 
Till crushed and mangled in his wrath are 

The daring rebels from the gates of heaven. 
Hence, we should learn to move in proper 

Nor chide the powers that have placed us here, 
Envy hot those who higher circles grace, 
And scorn to look upon plebeian face ; 
For as we rise temptations grow amain, 
And cares and sorrows follow in our train. 
The simple rustic to the world unknown 
Is happier oft than monarch on his throne. 
As when we seek the mountain top to gain, 
With ease we clamber up the sloping plain, 
But when ambition led, we higher rise 
The rugged way the straining muscle tries; 



At length with toil the highest point we reach ) 
And lovely landscapes far around us stretch, 
Enraptured vision ponders on the sight, 
And looks o'er nature with a vast delight ; 
But now the chilling blasts benumb the limbs, 
The ice-reflected rajs the eye sight dims, 
Till ill at ease we seek with hasty stride 
Again to trace the rugged mountain side. 
The stalwart farmer, ign'rant of the show, 
Pursues his labor on the plain below, 
While gentle breezes fan his heated brow, 
vAnd in his veins the healthy currents flow. 

How hard our fate did not the power of God 
Dispel the darkness of our dread abode, 
Soften our woes untold and cleanse the soul, 
With fear emerging from its earthly mould. 
Religion, where art thou ! the mighty hand. 
In meditation deep he strives to see 
Down in the depths of dark futurity ; 
He ponders o'er his thoughts so oft that now, 
Bewildered, in a maze, he knows not how, 
Celestial visions in his fancy rise, 
And heaven's bright concave meets his longing 

My task is finished — thee I grasp again, 
Thou rare ideal ot my laboring brain, 
irods ! what a calm steals o'er me. as I draw, 
The airy nectar through a three foot straw, 
Sow all dissolving in a trance Hay, 
\nd on a cloud my spirit floats away. 

***** Apropos. — We insert the fol- 
owing lines, which are " not so bad :" 

)h, there is not in the wide world a pleasure so 

Is to sit near the window and tilt up your feet, 
'ull away at the Cuba, whose flavor just suits, 
Indgaze at the world thro' the toes of your 




I know a lyttle hande 
'Tys ye softest in ye lande, 
And I feel yts pressure blande 

Whyle I synge ; 
Lyllie whyte and restinge nowe 
Lyke a rose leaf on my brow, 
As a dove myght fan my browe 

Wyth its wyngs. 
Welle ! 1 pryze all hands above 
Thys dear hand of heere I love. 

I know a lyttle foote 
Very cunnyngly 'tys put, 
Yn a daynty lyttle bootc 

Where yt hydes ; 
Lyke a shuttle it ever flyes 
Backe and forth before myne eyes 

As yt glydes. 
Welle ! I pryze, all feete above, 
Thys deare foote of heere I love. 

I know a lyttle harte 

Yt is free from courtlye art, 

And I owne yt every part 

From all tyme ; 
Ever yt beats wythe musyque's tone 
Ever an echo of myne owne, 
Ever keepyng myne own 

Holye tyme. 
Welle ! I pryze, all hearts above, 
Thys deare heart of heere 1 love. 

We are constiained to think our good 
President is becoming most too ". Demo- 
cratic," if he has such correspondents — 
read it : 

Columby Kottnty, East Florady. } 
Dec. 14th, 1854. f 
Ginral Pearce — 

JVli Deer fread — 


have had a liken fur u fur a long time so 
havin Jisi attendid a most inturrvstin cas- 
shun uv our Kounty Kourt i wil gin U the 
perticulers — fust sute Bil Wox sude jo 
Gra fur 4$ an 31 sense — Bil got the Gudg- 
ment jo sward he wudnt pa it — the presid- 
in squire sade as how he shud pa an then 
he tuk holt o jo an whaled im like hel 
which pleses the poppulaslmn verry much 
the squire mister Biles is a mity brave 
strong man sir he is hel in a fite an that is 
my obgect in riting U this letter is to let 
U no sump thin about im an to request a 
Kummishun fur im fur kaptin in the fust 
forses U kal fur agin Kuby — 
3'ore loving frend 


N'B — thar war 2 more kases at that 
Kourt 1 by Lusy Waluce agin jo Higs 
she sed jo ode her 1$ an 50 sense fur work 
an sarvice an hard labe.r dun at divers 
times &c but when the Koart axd her 
what sort o laber it war she sade he hadent 
any biznes axin queslons an ,^he kaulec im 
a sore ide beest — i tel U what president 



it war skerry times — the Koart sade she 
war in contemt an ordered the Konstabel 
to take her out but Lusy lit the offiser lik 
i o the ole blu hens chiken9 til her cloze 
purty nere all got tore off an i kant tej 
what wud a happend if ole misses Blizer 
whos a mity nise ole lady hadnt kum with 
it grate white sheatan throne it ovur Lusy 
— then 4 men kotcht her an karryed her 
out. » 

Tuther ka^e eended in a nise file 2 i 
wud gin U the detales but mi leter is git- 
tin 2 long — president i wil gin U notis be4 
our nixt koart so U may kuin out an se 
the tun i no it wil be refreshin to U to 
kum. Yore frend 


Take the bright shell 
From its home on the lea, 
And wherever it goes 
It will sing of the sea ; 
So take the fond heart 
From its home and its hearth, 
'Twill sing of the lov'd 
To the ends of the earth. 

'Tis with hesitation and regret that we 
are forced to make mention of a fact, 
whoseexistenceisowingtono want of pro- 
per principle, but which we are charitable 
enough to belief, is practised by those who 
do not think what they are doing we refer 

to the practice of taking papers from the 
" Reading Room." It is needless for us 
to tell them they are coolly taking what 
does not belong to them. The Reading 
Room is almost entirely filled with the 
Exchanges of the University Magazine, 
with the addition of some other papers, 
which are paid for, by the subscription of 
a very few. We by no means wish to re- 
strict the use of the Reading Room to only 
those who subscribe ; it is free to all, all are 
welcome, but we sincerely trust that gentle- 
men after satisfying their own curiosity 
will leave the papeis to be read by others 
who are just as anxious to read them as 
they are, and that on no consideration, any 
part of a late paper, much less the whole 
of it, be taken out by any one, especially 
those who refused to pay the small sum of 
25 cents for its support. 

Our exchanges are all punctual. We 
notice on our new list, " Graham's Ameri- 
ca Monthly," which needs no comment of 
ours, being as well known as it is. "Ogle- 
thorpe University Magazine," " The Car- 
olina Cultivator," "Saturday Evening 
Post," " Ellsworth American," (Maine,) j 
and Weldon Patriot. 

Vol. IV. 



MAY, 1855. 

No. 4. 


Of Abner Nash, the second Governor 
of North Carolina, after the change of 
government, but few memorials have been 
preserved, and but little is known beyond 
the general traditional remembrance of 
his talents, and of his sacrifices in the 
cause of Liberty. In Wheelers' History 
it is stated that his family was of Welsh 
origin, and that he was born in Prince 
Edward county, Va. A lawyer by pro- 
fession, he became the first Speaker of the 
Senate in North Carolina, and in 1779, 
the second Governor of the State. From 
1782 to '85 he represented Jones county 
in the Assembly, and was elected by the 
Assembly a member of the Continental 
Congress from 1782 to 86. 

He was twice married, first to the wi- 
dow of Gov. Dobbs, and second to a Miss 
Jones. He resided in New Berne at the 
time the British, under Major Craig, took 
possession of the town, and in the flight 
and general confusion of his family that 
ensued, his books and private papers were 
lost or scattered abroad. This misfortune 
accounts in a great measure for the mea- 
greness of our information in regard to 
him and his career. A few isolated let- 
ters of him are all that now remain, for 
which the reader is referred to the Life 
of Gov. Caswell, in the March No. of this 
Magazine, and to the Memoir of Gov. 
Burke, in the present. 
Vol. IV.— No. 10. 

Gov. Nash entered the Revolutionary 
struggle a man of large property, and at 
its close had lost it all. His health also 
was entirely broken by the anxieties and 
labors which he underwent more especi- 
ally while he was Governor of the State. A 
better illustration of the disordered state 
of the public finances, and the private- 
losses and hardships of that day, cannot 
be given than in the declaration of Gov. 
Nash's widow, # " that his salary, while 
Governor, was scarcely sufficient to pur- 
chase a calico gown." Being naturally of 
a delicate constitution he soon yielded to 
the consumption of the lungs which fast- 
ened upon him, and put an end to his 
life in 1786, while on his way to Phila- 
delphia to take his seat in Congress. He 
is said to have been a man of very high 
order of intellect, not much given to hard 
study, except when he had an important 
case to manage — then he threw into it all 
the powers of his mind, and rarely failed, 
of success. 

His brother, General Francis Nash, fell' 
in the battle of Germantown, and their 
honored name is preserved to the State in 
the county of Nash, erected in the year 

This slender account of one of our most 
honorable and distinguished revolutionary 
patriots, is compiled from Wheeler's His- 
tory, and from a letter written by his sodj. 



Judge Nash, our venerated Chief Justice, 
to Gov. Swain. To Gov. S. we are also 
indebted for the original of the following 
pleasant letter from Gen. Howe to Gov. 
Nash, on the appointment of Gen. Greene 
to the Southern army, and with which we 
dose this sketch — 

Camp at Gotoway, New Jersey, 
October 23, 1780. 
Dear Sir — Your obstinate silence to two let- 
ters which, upon my honor I have written you, 
had determined me to write you no more, but 
the command of the Southern Army having 
been given to my friend Gen. Greene induces 
me to retract a Kesolve, [which to own the 
truth was painful to myself,] and to introduce 
him to you as every way worthy of your Res- 
pect and Attention. His appointment to com- 
mand in my country is a circumstance as pleas- 
ing to me as I am certain it will be serviceable 
to Carolina, for I think I may venture to pledge 
myself to the State, that Gen. Greene will de- 
serve success whether he obtains it or not. — 
The means, however, my dear Sir, should be 
given him, or nothing can be expected even 
from him. The deserved influence you have, 
both personally and officially will, I doubt not, 
be exerted to support him bcth in the Cabinet 
and the Field. The Occasion will be emergent, 
for you will most assuredly be formidably at- 
tacked, and your very existence as a State de- 

pends upon your utmost Efforts and strenuous 
endeavours, and every thought of Expense 
should be lost in the importance of the Object. 
It will be essential to the General, and to the 
common cause, to have the most minute infor- 
mation of the situation of our country, its res- 
ources, its strength, the Temper of the People 
in general, the Characters of private and pub- 
lic Influence, and the general and particular af- 
fections of the People in every county, as to 
our cause. All these, Dear Sir, you can give 
him, and by which ydu will benefit the service, 
and do justice to a man from whom you have 
as much to expect as from almost any man liv- 
ing, if you support him properly. 

Would to Heaven my aid could be given to 
my country, in this, her time of Exigence, but 
devoted to Duty as I am, I have no option, and 
must move as I am ordered. My time, as I 
have many letters to write, admits of no addi- 
tion, except my warmest wishes for the happi- 
ness of yourself and Family, which, be assured 
is truly interesting to, 

Dear Sir, 
Your Excellency's sincere friend, 

And most obedient servant, 


P. S. I forgot to mention that I wrote you 
by Post, an official letter, informing you what 
I thought the Enemy intended against you. 
His Excellency Abner JS ash, Esqr.. 

Governor of North. Carolina. 


Thomas Burke, the third Governor of 
the State of North Carolina after the Rev- 
olution, was born in Galway County, Ire- 
land, about the year 1747. He was the 
son of Ulick Burke, (of the Tyaquin fami- 
ly,) and Letitia Ould, sister of Sir Field- 
ing Ould. He received a liberal educa- 
tion, and was bred to the profession of 

Medicine in his native country, but from 
some unexplained family dissensions, 
left his father's house and emigrated to 
Virginia when about seventeen years of 
age. For some years, he resided in Rich- 
mond, engaged in the study and practice 
of Medicine, and judging from his own 
account of himself, with much industry 



and success. " Becoming convinced how- 
ever that in this country it was not a field 
in which the most plentiful harvest might 
be reaped, he resolved to study law, which 
promised more profit, and yet much less 
anxiety." Entering upon his new stu- 
dies with equal energy, in a short time he 
qualified himself for admission to the Bar, 
and removing to Norfolk, practised in the 
same courts with Thomas Jefferson, with 
whom he maintained a correspondence for 
several years. 

There are still remaining many records 
and private letters of Gov. Burke from 
which it is easily gathered that he was a 
man of most noble and generous temper, 
particularly calculated to adorn social life, 
and to secure the love and admiration of 
many warm friends. He was an accom- 
plished writer, and ready speaker, and his 
acknowledged and commanding abilities 
seem to have established his reputation 
and influence at an early age. Being a 
distant relative of Edanus Burke, after- 
wards memberrof Congress, and a Judge 
of So. Ca., Gov. Burke became his early 
and efficient friend and patron, and con- 
ducted a kind correspondence with him 
to the close of his life. In 1770, he mar- 
ried Mary Freeman of Norfolk, who is 
said to have been a lady of great personal 
beauty and grace, though' unhappily not 
otherwise calculated to make his happiness 
in domestic life. In 1772, they removed to 
North Carolina, and settled in the neigh- 
borhood of Hillsborough, Orange county, 
naming their plantation Tyaquin, after the 
family seat in Ireland. 

At the very commencement of the dif- 
ficulties with Great Britain, he threw him- 
self with ardor on the American side, and 
soon became one of the leading spirits in 
the struggle that ensued. In a letter to a 
lady in Ireland, he writes — "the spirit of 
liberty breathes here even to enthusiasm, 
and every peasant knows the rights of 
freedom, better than many in the British 
Senate. What our present disputes with 

the mother country may end in, I cannot 
guess, but we think ourselves extremely 
ill-used, and are determined to be free at 
all events." He first attracted public no- 
tice in Virginia, entered actively into the 
public service. He represented the coun- 
ty of Orange in various political conven- 
tions of the day, and in 1776, sat as dele- 
gate in the Provincial Congress at Hali- 
fax. In the formation of the' Constitu- 
tion of the State he took a distinguished 
part among the able men who were asso- 
ciation in that work, and in December 
1776, was appointed, (with William Hoop- 
er and Joseph Hews,) delegate to the 
Continental Congress at Philadelphia, 
where he served till his election, by ac- 
clamation, to the office of Governor of 
North Carolina, in June 1781. *ft appears 
that he left his seat in Congress and went 
as amateur to the battle of Brandywine, 
and his election to the Chief Magistracy 
of this State may in some degree have been 
due to the patriotic ardor thus mani- 

The follctving letter to Burke from his 
predecessor in office, Gov. Nash, gives a 
good idea of the condition of public affairs, 
at the date of his election : 

Newbern, July 5, 1781. 

Dear Sir:— I had the pleasure to receive 
your favour of the 28th, last evening, and am 
very glad to fi»d the choice of the Assembly 
has fallen so judiciously on a Gentleman of 
your activity, experience, ability and public 
spirit. It was what I expected from the voice 
of the members, after I had declared my fixed 
resolution to resign, or rather to serve no rhore, 
for it was a task my health was by no means 
equal to, and besides, I had found by experi- 
ence that the Executive powers had been so di- 
vided that it was impossible to govern with any 
advantage to the people. With regard to the 
thing* you desire to be informed of, 1 am to ob- 
serve that previous to the August Session, Gen. 
Caswell had the appointment of the officers 
whose business it was to handle public money, 
and these men were not accountable to me, but 
to him and the Assembly. Their bonds were 
put into the hands of the Board of War, who 
were empowered to call them to account - — 



From August to February session, all the power 
•if controlling and directing the staff of the 
arm y_the county commissioners of Provisions, 
District Superintendents, and money holders 
of every denomination is lodged in the Board 
of War, and they, no doubt, can give a satisfac- 
tory account of that Business. As to the war- 
rants, it had never been the custom for the 
Governor to make returns of them to the As- 
sembly. I did it, however, to the amount of 
near ten millions to the Aug. Assembly, but 
as no notice was taken of it, or use made of it, 
I discontinued the custom, supposing that the 
Assembly depended on the Treasurers to at- 
tend and take their credits in settlement for I words, disposed in a remarkably smooth 
the warrants taken up ; this of course would J an( j fl ow j n g style. Perhaps we shall do 

and annoyed by the division of power al- 
luded to in Gov. Nash's letter, so much, 
that if the Assembly should persist in 
their unconstitutional requirements and 
restraints he would at once resign an of- 
fice which nothing but an ardent desire 
to be of some service to his country had 
induced him to accept. 

In writing as well as in action, Gov. 
Burke was singularly forcible and direct. 
He goes directly to the point and ex- 
presses himself in well selected energetic 

give an infallible and perfect view of the war 
rants and persons accountable. Since Febr. 
the disorders of the Country have been Very 
great, many public stores are no doubt lost, 
and but few acquired. Of the Losses, I have 
received no returns, nor do I know of anything 
acquired except a cargo of Salt which at my 
instance Mr. Hawkins purchased with some 
country pork, no part of the stock in trade. — 
This salt, Air- Speed tells me they are exchang- 
ing for tobacco. It would be well, I think, to 
think of the expediency of such a barter.— - 
Since my appointment I have never received a 

return of the strength of the Militia from 'he p ec t : 

him greater justice in allowing him to 
speak for himself, and therefore give entire 
one of the messages before alluded to : 

State of North Carolina, July , 1781. 

To the Honorable, the General AsserrMy, 
Gentlemen — 

You have been pleased to elect me to 
the office of Chief Magistrate of the State, a 
Dignity which I never aspired at, which is 
destructive to my private happiness, utterly 
repugnant to my Inclinations, and subversive 
of the very foundations of all my private pros- 

Brigadiers. In short, the Execvitive power has 
been so divided and sub-divided, that like the 
ravs of the sun, it lost its force, and men not 
knowing who to obey, obeyed nobody. I in- 
close you a kind of proclamation for the dis- 
charge of Militia prisoners. Some of ours 
from Charlcstown have arrived. They say 
three regiments from Ireland are arrived at 
Charlestown, but tell no more news. Bonds 
are returned I believe, for all sums issued on 
warrants, excepting £250,000 to Maj. Genl. 

I wish you all imaginable happiness and suc- 
cess in your administration, 

With the highest respect, 
Tour Excellency's most obt. sert. 
From this it is evident that Gov. Burke 
succeeded in troubled times to a disorder- 
ed Government. The difficulties pointed 
out by Gov. Nash, he seems to have ex- 
perienced in his turn with equal force. In 
-two short messages transmitted to the 

Having no family or Personal connections 
among you, and having been so long absent in 
public service as to be even personally known 
but to very few of you, and having not even 
been presei.t at any period of your session be- 
fore the Election, I cannot presume that I was 
chosen for any other reason, than that I was 
thought possessed of some Talents that might 
be serviceable to my country in her present 
critical circumstances. 

I am placed by your choice ir a point of view 
peculiarly conspicuous, and in times the most 
arduous and Critical. Every citizen of this 
State, and of the United States, will look up to 
me for the most Vigorous exertions of the 
Powers of Government against the Common 
Enemy. Acts of the General Assembly res- 
training my constitutional power will involve 
me in disputes, and prevent my proper exer- 
tions. Such acts indicate also such distrust of 
the Person of the Chief Magistrate, as plninh 
shows that he does not possess that Confidence 
which is Essential for giving Efficacy to his 
Authority. Without such confidence he cannot 

Assembly soon after his entrance upon , . 

J i. be sufficiently useful, in times like the present 

office he expresses himself as hampered \ when so much must d , vigor an< 



decision to which a prompt and willing obedi- 
ence are principally necessary. The Person 
who has not that Confidence is, for that reason, 
unfit for the office of Chief Magistrate. 

The Act passed this Session, "Entitled, An 
Act for draughting the militia to re-enforce the 
Southern army," contains a clause, in my opi- 
nion of the above nature, and which may in- 
volve the Governor in the dilemma of either 
disobeying the Constitution or the law. This 
T had the honor to represent in a former mes- 
sage, and I doubted not that it was the Effect 
of mistake or inadvertance, and that it would 
be explained accordingly ; but the General As- 
sembly have thought proper to persist, after 
Consideration of my message, and I can no 
longer attribute it to mistake or Inadvertance. 
I must, therefore, conclude that the sentiments 
which induced them to elect me are altered, and 
that by holding the office I prevent some Citi- 
zen in whom they could more fully confide and 
who therefore could render more effectual ser- 
vices. As nothing induced me to accept the 
appointment, but the wish to render effectual 
service to my country, so nolhirig shall prevail 
with me to hold it under unconstitutional res- 
traints that may embarrass my measures and 
prevent my usefulness, or to the prejudice of 
my country by keeping some more confidential 
man out of her most important office. 

If, therefore the General Assembly persist in 
requiring me to consult the Council of State in 
the dispositions to be made of troops after they 
are embodied, and thus absurd!}' to divide the 
Supreme military Command ; or in restraining 
the Executive power, from arraying and em- 
ploying the force of the State for its peculiar 
defence, within any particular number, which 
are plainly done by the section before mention- 
ed. I request that they will appoint a commit- 
tee to receive from me the great seal of the 
State, and the surrender of the office of Chief 

Unfortunately for himself and for the 
Commonwealth for whose best interests 
he so energetically and judiciously labor- 
ed, Gov. Burke's honorable and success- 
ful career was suddenly and sadly closed. 
On the 12th or l&th day of September 
1781, he was surprised in his house* at 
Hillsborough by a party of Tories, under 

* A small building on the lot then belonging 
fa William Hooper, since occupied by the late 
Mrs. Walters. 

the command of the notorious David Fan" 
ning, but on that day headed by his co- 
adjutor O'Neil, hurried off to Wilmington, 
then in the possession of the British, and 
delivered to Major Craig. From this mis- 
fortune may be dated the cloud that ob- 
scured the remaining years of Governor 
Burke's life, and which renders the duty 
of his biographer delicate and painful. — 
The following message from him to the 
Assembly in April '82, gives the most suc- 
cinct and reliable account of his capture. 

" Stayi >g a few days at Hillsboro' en my way 
to Salisbury in order to complete the disposi- 
tion 1 had ordered in that part of the country, 
during my short stay, I received intelligence of 
the enemy's intention to surprise Gen. Butler, 
who lay with a small party advanced some dis- 
tance on the South side of Haw river; and 
knowing that his force and equipments were 
not sufficient lor the necessary resistance, and 
unwilling to risque any action until we should 
have a propei force collected, I sent him orders 
to retreat secretly, and take up a secure posi- 
tion behind Haw river, which he happily effect- 
ed. The enemy disappointed in their enterprise 
pursued towards Hillsborough in hopes of fall- 
ing in with him, and on their march were in- 
formed by their c< n lections in and about Hills- 
borough, that I was there with little or no forcej 
and they instantly made me their object— for- 
getting or perhaps not knowing the danger of 
leaving Gen. Butler with a force in :heir rear: 
for which ignorance or neglect, they suffered 
very severely on their retreat, and came very 
near being utterly routed. 

The covered country thinly inhabited and 
chiefly in the line of their march by people well 
affected to them, or indifferent to both parties 
enabled them to move from a considerable dis- 
tance unobserved. A dark night, and a foggy 
morning with the neglect of the patrols who 
were ordered on the roads leading to the town, 
enabled them to invest it in the surrounding 
woods, and a little after sun-rise about five 
hundred entered on all sides. We were in no 
condition to resist. We had few or no effectual 
arms, but few men even including the towns- 
men, who were all peaceably in their houses, 
and no number was in any place collected. A 
scattering fire was for some little time kept up, 
but my house soon become the principal object 
of attack. To escape was impracticable, and 



resistance was in vain. Yet the savage man- 
ners and appearance of the men made me ex- 
pect nothing but massacre, and I preferred dy- 
ing sword in hand to yielding to their barbari- 
ty. Thus resolved, attended by Captain Reid, 
my aid-de-camp, Mr. Huske, my Secretary, 
and an Orderly Sergeant of the Continental 
line, and armed only with our swords and pis- 
tols, we sustained for rome time a close and a 
hot fire, until at length Captain Reid went 
through their fire, and brought a gentleman in 
the uniform of a British officer up to me, to 
whom after repeated assurance of proper treat- 
ment, I gave up my sword. This gentleman 
had much difficulty afterwards to preserve me 
from the violence of the men, but being joined 
by some Highland gentlemen, whom I had 
formerly made prisoners, and who remembered 
that they had been treated with humanity, they 
at length were able to cover ua from the fury 
of our assailants. Thus I became a prisoner, 
and after a tedious and distressing march in 
which we suffered every injurious extreme, 
which to describe would only too much affect 
your sensibility, we arrived at Wilmington, 
where I was put in close confinement as a pri- 
soner of State." 

From Wheeler's History we learn that 
Gen. Butler endeavored to intercept the 
march to Wilmington, overtaking them 
at Lindly's Mills on Cane Creek, where a 
sharp conflict ensued in which Fanning 
was severely wounded. But he succeed- 
ed in making good his retreat with his 
important prize. From Wilmington, Gov. 
Burke was transferred to Charleston, 
where Gen. Leslie was in command. By 
affecting to consider him only as a prison- 
er of State, the British placed Gov. Burke 
on a different footing from their prisoners 
of War, and precluded all chance of re- 
lease by exchange for an equivalent. He 
was paroled to James Island, at that time 
infested by large numbers of Tory refu- 
gees and desperadoes, to whom Governor 
Burke, from his past history and official 
station was an object of deep and inveter- 
ate hostility. To repeated applications 
from this unfortunate gentleman to the 
British Commander for a parole to his 
own or some other Southern State, or to 

be exchanged for an equivalent, or, if all 
these should be refused, for a transfer to 
some other place, where his personal safe- 
ty at least might be secured, and himself 
no longer subjected to daily insult and de- 
gradation, he received no direct answer 
from the British officers, but was given 
to understand that none of his requests 
could be allowed, and that he was to be 
detained indefinitely for the purpose of 
retaliation, should David Fanning or any 
other Tory marauder be taken and suffer 
punishment. The close confinement of a 
high-spirited and refused gentleman, and 
his parole only to limits within which 
he was in constant danger of assassina- 
tion, was in contravention not only of all 
just and generous principle, but also of re- 
cent precedent. There are extant some 
very affecting letters from Gov. Burke to 
his friends in North Carolina, represent- 
ing the injustice and the danger of his 
condition, and entreating assistance and 
relief, not only for himself but for some 
fellow-captives, among whom were Cap- 
tain Reid and Mr. Huske who were taken 
prisoners with him. It is difficult to re- 
sist the impression that in the neglect of 
of his friends and the apparent tardiness 
and feebleness of their efforts in his behalf, 
are unmistakeable traces of the genuine 
old North Carolina nonchalence and inac- 
tivity. In a letter to L. H. DeRossett, Esq., 
from James Island, Nov. 1781, he writes — 
" I persuade myself that I have no personal 
enemies, because I am not conscious of 
ever having been influenced in my public 
character by private passion or resent- 
ment, nor of having injured an individ- 
ual." And to Willie Jones from the same 
place, in January 1782, he writes sadly 
enough : " If the silence of my friends 
arises from neglect or forgetf ulness, I shall 
feel it as a severer evil than any which I 
have yet encountered." Commenting in 
the same letter upon the information 
which had just been conveyed him that 
he was to be detained for the purpose of 



retaliation, he adds, — " the only request I 
shall make my country on this ground is 
that regard to me may not for a moment 
suspend what they may deem the neces- 
sary execution of the laws. I can suffer 
whatever may be inflicted by the enemy, 
and can die if necessary." 

It would perhaps have been better had 
Gov. Burke remained fixed in this high 
resolve, and contempt of death. But 
stung by the indignit3 r with which he was 
treated, and by the reflection that he was 
detained without limit of time, as a host- 
age for the safety of miscreants and others, 
and well convinced that his life was in 
continual jeopardy from the licentious 
royalists who surrounded him, many of 
whom were fugitives from justice under 
his own government in North Carolina — 
he at length decided that his parole was 
cancelled by these circumstances, and re- 
solved to make his escape. This purpose 
he effected on the night of the 16th of 
January, 1782, and two days after, on ar- 
riving at a place of security, addressed the 
following letter to Gen. Leslie in explana- 
tion of his course: 

January 18th, 1782. 
Sir — You will please to recollect that I wrote 
to you on the 30th of last month, requesting a 
•parole within the American lines, and inform- 
ing you that my person was in great danger 
from the'refugees who were exceedingly licenti- 
ous, and to whom persons of my political char- 
acter are peculiarly obnoxious, and, therefore, 
if granting my request was inexpedient, it would 
be necessary to remove me to some place where 
my person might be safe. You were not pleas- 
ed to answer that letter, and I found myself 
still exposed to men who are but too well known 
to be little restrained by moral principles, and 
whom I had seen commit even murder with 
entire impunity. Deeming it exceedingly pro- 
bable that they might conceive some violent 
design against me, and knowing lhat fear of 
punishment could not restrain men who felt 
themselves secure even against discovery. I 
felt every hour, during sixteen days, all the ap- 
prehensions of assassination. As my represen- 
tation to you had not procured your notice so 

far as even to induce you to answer me, I saw 
no prospect of being released from my danger- 
ous situation, and I concluded that such neg- 
lect of my personal safety would justify my 
withdrawing my person. But tho' I carried this, 
resolution into effect, I do not thereby intend 
to deprive you of the advantage which my cap- 
ture, by the rights of War entitle you to. 

1 propose returning to my Government, and 
there to expect an answer from you to the fol- 
lowing proposition : 

I will endeavor to procure for you a just and 
reasonable Equivalent in exchange for me, or, 
if that cannot be effected, I will return within 
your lines on parole, provided, you will pledge 
your honor that I shall not be treated in any 
manner different from the officers of the Conti- 
nental army, when prisoners of war. 

This proposition will, I hope, be satisfactory, 
and will leave you no doubt that in withdraw- 
ing, I had no dishonorable intentions. 

There can indeed be no doubt that Gov. 
Burke was treated with great indignity. 
We are at some loss to account for the 
fact that a man of his eminence and sta- 
tion should have been so disregarded. In 
various statements of his situation, pre- 
pared for the satisfaction of his friends 
and the public, he testifies that on one 
occasion the party he was with at his 
quarter's, was fired upon by the refugees 
in the presence of the British soldiers, 
and one man was killed at his side and 
another wounded : nor were the murder- 
ers brought to justice. How far he was 
justifiable in withdrawing his person 
from such a situation, we do not take up- 
on ourselves to decide at present. It is 
certain that at first, at all events, he was 
sustained in his decision by honorable 
men. Gen. Greene appears to have sanc- 
tioned it, and entered at once upon nego- 
tiations for his -exchange. Gen. Leslie, 
however, seemed in no hurry to reply to 
the propositions of his late prisoner, and 
Governor Burke's impetuous temper little 
brooking further slight or delay, he pro- 
ceeded to Salem and gathered up the 
reins of government once more. This 
step, we must think, was most unadvised. 



From Salem he addressed the following 
letter to Gen. Greene : 

January 31s£, 1782. 
Sir— I arrived here last night, and find no 
prospect of an assembly, competent to business. 
I perceive the State is in very great derange- 
ment, and to reform it is an herculean task. I 
tremble to undertake it, and yet I cannot re- 
concile it to my republican principles to decline 
it. Indeed, I perceive my presence in the State 
will prevent the legal administration by any 
other hand. Was it not for this, I believe, not- 
withstanding your opinion, that I might pro- 
ceed previous to hearing from Gen. Leslie, I 
should decline acting untill I had a certainty 
that the equivalent in exchange for me had been 
sent in, and received by the enemy, because 
this would remove even the scruples of delica- 
cy with which I am still much distressed. Nor 
does it entirely satisfy me, that Gov. Wright 
[of Georgia] who departed from his parole on 
the same ground of danger to his person, still 
acts, and no equivalent has ever been rendered 
or even offered. 

I will immediately apply myself to restoring 
peace and internal security to this State, and 
to the making such disposition of its resources 
as may be assisting to the army under your 

This precipitancy in proceeding to ad- 
minister the Government, while the deli- 
cate matter of his return to his parole, or 
his exchange, was still unadjusted is not 
easily excused even on the ground which 
he repeatedly urges in his letters that 
- spring — love of the public service,and anx- 
iety to serve the State at a critical period. 
The British General made some difficulty 
about receiving an equivalent, and the 
business was not finally concluded for 
several months. Meanwhile, the public, 
to serve whom he had risked so much, 
looked coldly upon him. Doubts and in- 
sinuations were not spared by his ene- 
mies, and though he struggled to rely 
upon his own consciousness of integrity 
and honorable action, he could not with 
his quick and fine feeling, long sustain 
the implied disapprobation of the whole 
community. His private affairs had suf- 
fered greatly in his absence, his wife and 

infant child having been exposed to dan* 
ger and dependent on the kindness of 
friends. It is touching to see his high 
spirit dejected and broken, as in his let- 
ters written during the session of the As- 
sembly in Hillsborough, April 1782, he 
announces his determination to retire 
from the public service, "which has hith- 
erto brought me nothing but disquiet, 
misfortune and poverty." His letters 
of explanation and justification are able 
and eloquent. The following dignified 
remonstrance with Col. Otho H. Wil- 
liams, seems to have been called forth 
by uncharitable comments then in active 
circulation : 

Halifax, March 28th, 1782. 
Sir-— It gives me pain to expostulate with a 
gentleman for whom I had much esteem, on 
part of his conduct that seems to me to dero- 
gate from his candor and discretion ; but the 
manner in which you have taken the liberty to 
speak in your passage thro' this State relative- 
ly to my escape from the enemy, makes it in- 

You have, I am told, thought proper to say, 
that I had misrepresented the opinions of Gen- 
eral Greene and his officers ; that I had left head 
quarters precipitately, by which, and taking 
upon me the administration of Government, I 
was considered by the army as having acted in 
a manner disgraceful to the State, and to the 
United States. How far injuring or insulting 
an absent man, and relatively to an affair so 
circumstanced as mine, comports with the 
character cf a gentleman, will easily be deci- 
ded by a man of true dignity of mind, which 
widely differs from an overweening arrogance. 
And whether you have thought proper to sup- 
pose me destitute of the qualities requisite for 
maintaining my rank in Society, or to deny 
them, is an enquiry of no importance, as either 
would lead to the same consequences--but at 
present the matter, as to the insult, must rest. 
As to the injury, give me leave to say that you 
are mistaken in the conjectures which you ad- 
vanced for facts. I made no representation at 
all of the opinion of the officers at camp, ex- 
cept that they deemed the leaving a prisoner 
on parole exposed to assination would justify 
an escape, but that they did not know that it 
applied to me, because they perceived I was 
equally influenced by another motive, the ap- 



prehensions of close confinement, but did not 
advert to its being as the subject of retaliation 
for criminals, and that upon the whole, they 
thought the enemy had a claim of change for 
me. You sir, who were at the time Adjutant 
General, can scarcely be ignorant that this was 
not a misrepresentation. I will venture to as- 
sert, it was the only opinion of the officers which 
was ever made known to me, and that it was 
contained in a report which Gen. Greene shewed 
me, but which he did not put into my possession. 
Gen. Greene's opinion, so far as he disclosed it 
tome, was that he considered me in a situation 
delicate, critical and distressing, involved in a 
dilemma which obliged either to bring my honor 
question, or to sacrifice my life, that had he into 
been in my place, he should rather have abided 
my Fate than incurred the strictures of friends 
and enemies ; and in order to put the matter on 
such a footing as to prevent my enemies, open 
or concealed, from having it in their power to 
tax me with a base or mean intention, he advi- 
sed me to the measures which I have since pur- 

This was the opinion I represented and 
pursuant to which I acted, and he is too much 
a man of Truth and honor to leave it in any 
man's power to Infix so injurious a stigma as 
that of misrepresentation on me, even if I had 
it not from under his name. If Gen. Greene 
did not communicate this opinion to you, you 
might conjecture that he intended some other; 
but you are not justifiable on conjecture mere- 
ly, to assert that it was a misrepresentation. — 
Upon what principle you could say or suppose 
that my departure from camp was precipitate, I 
cannot discover. I think you can scarcely be 
uninformed that I remained as long-as General 
Greene thought necessary, that he accompanied 
me as far as Jackson's borough, and ordered 
escorts to attend me to Charlotte in this 

Your candor did not go so far as to suggest 
to you that it was necessary far me to hasten 
to the place, where the Legislature of the State, 
to whom alone I was accountable, were expect- 
ed to be then convened, nor that I had a family 
peculiarly anxious and distressed in conse- 
quence of an imprisonment which threatened 
me with, the worst of consequences, and in 
which I was neglected as well by the armies as 
the councils of America. These circumstances 
might have been expected to occur to a 
man of candor, even had the fact been that I 
departed precipitately, and had there been any 
reason for my loitering, idly, near a camp 
merely to await the strictures of a few of 

ficers, and very few, I hope will be so indis- 
creet, who, like Colonel Williams might take 
great liberties in pronouncing, concerning the 
mode of my escape, forgetting that while a pri- 
soner the army, tho' triumphant, had utterly 
neglected me, and who, I doubt, would have 
made themselves very easy if I had been pri- 
vately murdered, or publicly executed. I am 
free to declare, sir, that I pay no regard to the 
opinions of such men, tho' I have the highest 
respect for those of men of candor, which I 
suppose and hope the generality of the officers 
of the army to be, and which I ever thought 
Colonel Williams. Men of candor will scarce- 
ly expect me to have remained in a situation 
which was deemed too dangerous by some of 
the most intrepid officers of the army after I 
had given notice of my situation and apprehen- 
siocs, nor will they expect, that neglected as I 
already was, and with the example of Colonel 
Haynes before me, with the evidence before me, 
of the contempt and harshness with which the 
Militia were treated, and the impunity which 
the enemy experienced in all those cases, nor, 
I say, will they expect that I should remain in 
the power of an enemy, who had certainly 
marked me out as a subject of retaliation, 
should the Civil Laws, which could not be dis- 
pensed with, be excepted. 

They will not expect me to have sacrificed 
myself to the opinions of an army who had no 
regard to my situation, when closely confined 
as a prisoner of State, and neither knew nor 
enquired my fate. And I am also free to say 
that an officer of that army when he speaks of 
my escape, ought to speak with some diffidence 
and modesty. He ought to remember that he 
can never be in so unprotected a state, he 
ought to remember that an individual who de- 
sires no protection from a corps is with an ill 
grace required to sacrifice himself, for the ad- 
vantage or convenience of that corps, Be as- 
sured, sir, that I felt the neglect with which I 
was treated, and the more keenh', when I was 
persuaded I had merited, even as an individual, 
some regard, and as an officer and magistrate 
of high rank, I was certainly entitled to it. Ne- 
vertheless, I could prevail on myself to remove 
from a danger which was by every one consi- 
dered as iminent, until I had the clearest con- 
viction that the enemy never considered the 
Militia and Continentals as reciprocal hostages, 
but that the latter were treated with great po- 
liteness while the most contemptuous distinc- 
tion was, wisely in them, however it may be in 
us, made with respect to the former. Let me 



remind you, too, of a remark obvious enough, 
tho' it seems to have escaped you. I knew 
that the case admitted by the officers to justify 
an escape applied to me, tho' the officers did not 
feel it, they did not perceive it. Their opinion, 
was what I asked, their judgment I was not a- 
amenble to, nor did I submit to it. I knew 1 was 
in the predicament they supposed, and therefore 
even in their opinion, justifiable. I doubt not, 
upon fuller information their hypothetical opi- 
nion will be absolute. 

As to my resuming the Government, I have 
no doubt that the candid and sensible part of 
mankind will approve it when they know the 
reasons which induced me thereto, even tho' 
it had not been agreeable to General Greene's 
opinion, those reasons, are immaterial to you. 
I shall give them to my country, because they 
have a right to them, and to my friends whom I 
wish to satisfy. My enemies, if 1 have any, 
must, I think, be destitute of candor if they 
will not confess that I was impelled by a sense 
of duty, and regard to public weal, to take up- 
on me a disagreeable, difficult and injurious 
service to prevent derangements, whose conse- 
quences might be felt even by that army, who, 
you say, have censured me, a fact which you 
will allow me to doubt, as well from my infor- 
mations from thence, as from my opinion of 
their candor and rectitude which cannot admit 
that they would censure, rashly, and v, ithout in- 
formation, what was approved by their General. 

I hope, sir, after considering this letter that 
I have a right not only to request, but to de- 
mand that when in future you speak of this 
matter you will be cautious not to assert that I 
have misrepresented the opinion of General 
Greene and his officers, nor that my depar- 
ture from Camp and resuming my Government 
disapproved by Gen. Greene. As to your own 
opinions, if you will rashly form them in affairs 
wherein you seem to be very ill informed, and 
deliver them without the discretion of a man of 
sense or the candor of a gentleman, I am per- 
suaded they will soon be of no weight, and will 
give very little pain to, 

Sir, your humble servant. 
April 12th, he writes thus to General 
Greene : 

" I am exceedingly ol.liged to you for the in- 
terest you take in an affair which has given 
me more uneasiness than any other incident of 
my life, because of my apprehensions lest I 
should not find it practicable to convey just 
ideas of the circumstances, and consequently 

the malicious may find room to attribute my 
conduct to improper motives, a late I fear it 
will not be possible for me to avoid." " I my- 
self never had a doubt that my escape was jus- 
tifiable, £ nd I always deemed the proposition 
made to General Leslie merely voluntary, and 
intended only to prove that my motives were 
not dishonorable. No proposition can be clear- 
er to me than that a prisoner of war surrenders 
to save his life from a prevailing enemy, and 
that the immutable condition of his surrender 
is the protection of his lite. That this condition 
must be annexed to every agreement into which 
he enters as a prisoner of war, and that no en- 
gagement as such a prisoner can oblige him to 
surrender his life to au assassin or executioner. 
' ' These positions I am persuaded cannot be 
controverted, but the difficulty must always be 
in proving that the danger existed. From the 
nature of the case, proof is unattainable, and 
to risque the experiment would be to submit to 
the evil. No application could be made even 
to the Country of the prisoner, because he is 
within the enemy's power, and they cannot be 
supposed to admit it, indeed, by the by, the let- 
ter I wrote giving notice to my Country, was 
suppressed by the Enemy. All that can be ex- 
pected is such circumstantial proof as will sat- 
isfy the wise and candid ; and to such as know 
the character, principles and practice of the 
people I was exposed to, and shall attend to the 
peculiarity of my situation, my danger will 
never appear doubtful. I have no doubt that 
had I remained until after some events that 
have taken place here, I should have been sac- 
rificed with so little ceremony, that you could 
only attribute it to the rage of Irregulars. The 
matter upon the whole must be left to each 
man's strictures. I shall regard those of the 
candid and sensible with great deference, those 
of the arrogant, ignorant, or malitious, I must 
learn to despise. I have no other doubts of 
your succpss in the exchange, should the ene- 
my admit it, except what I suggested in my 
letter of the 5th of March. If they persist in 
refusing it on reasonable grounds, I believe it 
will be best to let tho matter iest at the point of 
negotiation. But you are by iar the best judge 
of the whole matter. They unfortunately place 
a higher value on me than my own country did ; 
but a little time will make me of no value to 
either except as a mere obscure individual, for 
I am preparing as fast as possible to take a final 
leave of all public business, happy that our af- 
fairs are in so promising a situation that I can 
indulge my inclination for retirement without 



giving room to suppose that I am moved by 
apprehensions for our success. 

When you conversed with me in your cham- 
ber at Mr. Ashburn's on this affair, and read to 
me the advice you intended to give me, I asked 
you if after writing the letter you recommended, 
I should be at liberty to ac t, and you will proba- 
bly recollect that the result of our conversation 
was an answer in the affirmative : that the ex- 
pression my government, not country, or State 
related plainly to my office, and not the region : 
that as it was left to General Leslie to answer 
and bring the matter to a point as soon as he 
pleased, it rested altogether upon him, and if he 
neglected or refused to answer me, I had no 
farther concern with him. After this, I had no 
doubt that I bad reserved, as I intended, the 
liberty of acting, if I found it necessary for the 
public service, and when 1 left you, it was my 
intention, and I avowed it to every one I con- 
versed with after that convei sation, to dispose 
of my time and talents in such manner as would 
best promote the common cause, nor did I in the 
least doubt that I had your opinion in favor of 
; the resolution, and from thence I drew much 
: consolation. I remained full of this opinion 
until I received your letter of March 18th ; that 
letter seems to bring it into doubt, though it 
also admits of a construction that you lament, 
the consequences of my having acted pursuant 
to an opinion, which was intended to place my 
conduct m as favorable a light as possible. It 
will give me deep concern if all this time I have 
been acting contrary to an advice which I in- 
tended to follow as closely as possible, or if I 
deviated from it, it should be by not acting at 
all. This deviation I probably should have 
made, had I not found myself on my arrival in 
jl very critical dilemma. 

This change of resolution in a character so 
inflexible as mine, will no doubt appear extraor- 
dinary to you. 1 will in some part account for it 
tho' the entering into all my reasons for it would 
be tedious and uninteresting. I became acquain- 
ted with such circumstances as opened my Eye 
to the folly of having devoted my time and care 
to the service of the public, in prejudice to my 
private affairs to such a degree as to threaten 
consequences extremely distressing. It was 
easy to perceive that 1 was sacrificed to difficult 
dangerous and important trusts only becase I 
was supposed to have talents to execute them. 
I could say harsh things Sir, but it would be to 
no purpose. I had not reached Salem before I 
had fully se.tled it with myself to seek for a 

quiet retirement wherever it could be found. — 
Full of these sentiments, I waited the assem- 
bling of the Legislature, in patience and silence, 
to whom 1 intended to resign. They did not 
meet, and I intended then to have removed into 
some other State, until the next meeting, in or- 
der to prevent the embarrassment arising from • 
my presence. When we perceived that no 
house could be made, the Speaker of the Senate 
suggested to me that his office which threw on 
him the Administration, must expire with the 
Assembly of which he was Speaker, to which 
the annual General election would put a period. 
After that, if I refused to act there cou'd be no 
executive. I perceived that great derangement 
must ensue, and much injury to the public could 
scarcely be avoided. I perceived much to be 
done in consequence of your letters, and requi- 
sitions for the support of the Army, and that 
preparations were necessary for a vigorous cam- 
paign. I could not reconcile it to myself to 
suffer evils to happen which I could by any 
means prevent, even if I was under no engage- 
ment to the public. But 1 was under an engage- 
ment to discharge my duty unless I was disqual- 
ified for it. I could not be disqualified unless 
my escape was unjustifiable, and I was conse- 
quently still a prisoner. I really neither could 
then nor can now be of opinion that my escape 
was not justifiable. If I could, I would go in to 
the Enemy's lines at all hazards. You see now 
my dilemma. I could not justify declining to act, 
and thereby leaving the public without a neces- 
sary Magistrate, without establishing contrary 
to any judgment that my escape had been un- 
warrantable, and that I was still a prisoner, and 
ought to go in to the Enemy. I found myself 
under a necessity of postponing my deteimina- 
tion until a Session of Assembly could be held, 
but every day since has more and more confirm- 
ed my determination of retiring as soon as the 
Legislature could elect a successor. Upon the 
whole, Sir, necessity obliged me to act, but I 
always consoled myself with the idea that I had 
your approbation. 

" I sent orders to the Commissary General to 
send forward immediately the Beeves you re- 
quired, and which by returns in my possession 
appear to be on hand, also to deliver the poik to 
the Quarter Master General to be transported 
as you desired. I also directed him to commute 
as much of the specific supplies as could be 
spared, into West India Commodities to be sent 
to you also. I required his precise answer to 
lie transmitted to you, and you have it here 



enclosed. You perceive he deems the West 
India Commodities of more Importance to you 
than the pork, and proposes therefore rather to 
commute it all for them. If you are of a differ- 
ent opinion, we shall prevent h in ; if you agree 
with him, he shall be empowered to proceed. I 
shall see him in a few days, and hope to be able 
to adjust the matter with him more to your satis- 

No person seems to think of contracting, nor 
is it to any purpose to enquire for any contract 
untjl assurances of payment can be given: then, 
be assured Sir, contractors will be readily found. 
I can only conjecture upon what the Assembly 
will do, but 1 hope they will fall upon some 
mode substantially to comply with Mr. Morris's 

" I am convinced that you hare been fur- 
nished with the Supplies from this State that 
you required, especially as I know we abound 
in the articles you want— except Rum, which 
is scarce for the present. But our business is 
seldom well timed, and therefore we lose the 
advantage of our resources. All the collections 
were to be made after my return, and then the 
season was too far advanced. The fattened 
animals had been all sold, and it was too late 
to stall beef, because the long forage was ex- 
hausted, nor could hogs be fattened before 
the weather would become too warm to save 
them. A considerable quantity, however, has 
been collected, but very far short of what 
might have been if required in due Season. 

" I have just received reports of the landing 
of some British Troops at Beaufort in this 
State, but not authenticated. I can see no 
object for them, and can scarce credit it. 

" There is still in this State a Col. Fields, of 
Col. Hamilton's Corps (as lam informed). He 
oug-ht to have been exchanged for Col. Little of 
our line at the former exchange under the car- 
tel, but the Enemy's Commissary of prisoners 
has shuffled the matter off to this hour, and he 
remains here still, on parole, and Col. Little 
still remains a prisoner. I enclosed you some 
papers from Salem which explained the treat- 
ment the latter received from the Enemy. In 
order to teach them not to trifle, I shall order 
this Mr. Fields into close custody, unless they 
wilj bring the affair to a conclusion immediate- 
ly, for if they refuse to exchange him, he must 
be considered as a Traitor :— this indeed I 
should long siuca have done had I not expect- 
ed that some measures would have been taken 
with him in another line. He has always been 

considered as a dangerous man. I request, sir> 
that you will direct the Commissary of prison- 
ers to inform the Enemy of this resolution, and 
that they must send the certificate of Col. Lit- 
tle's exchange for .Fields by the return of the 
messenger who carried my letter respecting 
Bryant, otherwise I shall execute my resolu- 

I am, &c, 


It is impossible not to sympathize deep- 
ly with the writer of these spirited, dig- 
nified and energetic letters. If he had 
acted injudiciously there is ample evi- 
dence that he had reason to believe him- 
self justifiable, and sustained by those to 
whose opinion he had deferred. 

There are two counts in the indictment 
preferred against Gov. Burke by honora- 
ble men. First, that he broke his 
parole, and second, that having done so, 
before either his friends, the public or 
the enemy had delivered their verdict and 
established his position in consequence, 
he still advanced upon his dubious way, 
in proceeding at once to reassume his of- 
ficial station and to act therein. 

In the matter of his parole, being sus- 
tained by precedent and the peculiarity 
of his circumstances, he would probably 
have been fairly acquitted and justified if 
he had chosen to await patiently the ver- 
dict ; and if we cannot concur in the pre- 
cipitancy of his zeal to ( serve the State in 
a time of danger and difficulty, let thj» 
warm ardor of his patriotism be his best 
defence in the eyes of posterity. 

In December of that year Alexander 
Martin, late Speaker of the Senate, was 
elected to the office of Governor, and Gov. 
Burke thenceforward resided upon his es- 
tate near Hillsborough till his death, 
which, if his worldly task was done even 
in the prime of his days, we cannot think 
occurred unhappily for him on the 2d of 
December, 1783. 

His only child is still living, Miss Mary 
W. Burke, of Marion, Ala., a lady whose 
talents, attainments and virtues, are wor- 



hy of her lineage. Mrs. Burke was mar- 
led a second time — to Major JDogherty, 
tvho had been an officer in the American 
- trmy. 

As before hinted, Gov. Burke's private 
brtune had been irremediably injured by 
lis unselfish devotion to the service of his 
idopted country. 

His long captivity had borne still more 
ieavily on his means, and it is a fact not 
ery creditable to the justice of our State, 
,nd perhaps still further illustrating its 
haracter for tardiness in some respects, 
hat after Gov. Burke's death, the land 
ihich should have been at least the]inheri- 
ance of his daughter, was appropriated, 
t the suit of Coi. Hamilton, of the Bri- 
ish army, to pay for Gov. Burke's neces- 
ary expenses and debts incurred on 
ames Island. James Hogg, of Hills- 
orough acting executor and guardian for 
he child, several times urged upon the 
/egislature, the services and sacrifices of 
ae father, and the fact that the State still 
'■wed him part of his salary due while he 
'as a member of Congress. To repeated 
pplications no answer was returned from 
le Assembly, nor was any notice taken 
f a debt due alike from generosity and 
istice — and which to this day is undis- 
harged. In a number of interesting 
:tters to Burke from Cornelius Harnett, 
ritten from Philadelphia, in 1779, while 
e was in Congress, there is constant re- 
srence to the losses which all men in 
ublic life at that day, cheerfully sustain- 
1 in the struggle for independence. An 
xtract from one of these letters will serve 
) illustrate the times, and afford a fair 
jecimen of Harnett's manner to his more 
ttimate friends. 

" For 's sake come on to relieve me 

, i Nov., but at farthest the very beginning of 
'ec, and make that domestic creature, Whit- 
lelHill, come with you. In fact I cannot live 
are. The prices of every necessary have ad- 
uneed 100 per cent since we parted. I shall 
!.:tum indebted to my country at least $6000 
hilars, and you very well know how we lived. 

Do not mention this complaint to any person 
lam content to sit down with this loss, and 
much more, if my country requires it. I only- 
mention it to guard you against difficulties 
which you must encounter on your return, un- 
less the General Assembly will make suitable 
provision for your expenses at least. I know 
they will be liberal, they always have been in 
their allowances to their servants. Could not 
Hooper, Nash, Johnson or some such, be sent 
with you. Believe me they will be much want- 
ed. I acknowledge it is cruel in me to wish 
you to return ; you have already suffered more 
in your private concerns, than any man who 

has been in the delegation for some time past 

But you have this consolation ; that should you 
fail of receiving your reward in this world, yon 
will no doubt, be singing Hallelujahs in the next 
to all eternity. Tho', I acknowledge, your 
voice is not very well calculated tor that busi- 

Adieu, my friend, may you be happy. You 
will believe me when I assure you that your 
happiness will be a very great addition to my 
own. I know ycu hate professions--so do I. 
I am, dear sir, 
Your affectionate and obt. sen, 

Among the men and women of that 
period, who were eminent for intellect 
and worth, Gov. Burke was admired and 
caressed — distinguished no less by his so- 
cial accomplishments, than by his ability 
as a lawyer and a statesman. In Gris- 
wold's "Republican Court," a work of no 
little interest and value. There is some 
account of a celebrated belle who reigned 
in Philadelphia during the years that 
Burke was a member of the Congress 
holding its sessions in that city — Miss 
Esther Vining, whose friendship the most 
distinguished men of the day were proud 
to deserve and obtain. We find among 
Gov. Burke's papers, abundant evidence 
of an agreeable correspondence maintained 
with this accomplished lady, and with 
other fair* ladies to the influence of whose 
attractions he seems to have been peculi- 
arly susceptible. Had his "gentler stars" 
united him to a spirit congenial with his 
own, this record of his fortunes migth 
have been different. 



We learn by a letter from Miss Burke, 
that her father was " in person, of middle 
stature, well formed, and much marked 
by the small pox, which occasioned the 
loss of his left eye : the remaining one 
being a fine expressive blue." That a 
young man who had left his home at sev- 
enteen years of age, should, in a foreign 
land, without patronage or friends, within 
fifteen years, have achieved so brilliant a 
success, so eminent a position, is in itself 

a remarkable and attractive story — 
strongly contrasted with the clouds that 
overshadowed his early life, and again 
closed darkly around his latter days. — 
However, he may have erred in the dis- 
charge of what he conscientiously believ- 
ed his duty to himself and his country, 
the memory of this gallant Irishman shall 
ever be dear to the State in whose service 
he perilled and lost so much. 




When the brigade unbodied at Wil- 1 
niington, it consisted of nine thousand | 
s.nd four hundred, rank and file : twelve 
Colonels, six Majors, forty-eight Captains, 
ninety-six Lieutenants, forty -eight En- 
signs, two Drummers and two Fifers to 
every Captain"* s Company, one hundred 
and eighty-two Sergeants, eight Quarter 
Master Sergeants, and Sergeant's Major 
to each Regiment, one Drum Major, who 
was an old gentleman from Elizabeth, by 
the name of Alex. Harvey ; one Fife Ma- 
jor, an Englishman, by the name of Robt 
Williams, a master of all kinds of music 
and genteelly bred, who had been trans- 
ported from England before the war, for 
cursing the royal family ; eight Doctors, 
eight Adjutants and one Brigade Major, a 
hatter from Hillsborough, besides Sutlers 
and Paymasters. 

On the 1st of November, we received 
orders to march to the North and join 

the grand camp, commanded by Wash- 
ington. About the loth of November, 
we marched from Wilmington, under the 
command of Gen. Frank Nash, and pro- 
ceeded to the Roanoke river and encamp- 
ed about a mile and a half from the town 
of Halifax, in Col. Long's old fields, who 
was Commissary General of the North 
Carolina troops. There we remained 
about three weeks, when we received or- 
ders to turn back and go and meet the 
British at Augustine and prevent them 
from getting into the State of Georgia, and 
proceeded by way of Wilmington. On 
our march, we lay one night on the South 
side of Contentney creek, where there 
were living an old man and woman who 
had a number of geese about the house ; 
and next morning about twenty of their 
geese were missing. They came to the 
encampment inquiring about them ; but 
getting no information among the tents, 

hugh Mcdonald. 


they went to the General, who said he 
could do nothing unless they could pro- 
duce the guilty. On his giving them ten 
dollars, however, they went away satis- 
fied ; and I am very sure that I got some 
of them to eat. Being a sleepy headed 
boy, I always went to sleep as soon as the 
fires were made ; and, having done so 
now, about midnight, a Mr. John Turner, 
a messmate of mine, tried to waken me, 
which he found difficult to do ; but, be- 
ing a strong man, he lifted me up and 
kept sticking pins in my rump until I was 
fully awake, when he said, "D — n you, 
go to the kettle and see what you will 
find there." I went and found it was 
fowl flesh and very fat. I did not under- 
stand it that night ; but knew what it was 
next morning when the old people came 
to camp inquiring for their geese, the 
Greneral, after paying them ten dollars, 
*ave the men strict orders to be honest 
or he would punish the least offence of 
that kind with severity. 

We proceeded thence to Wilmington 
vhere we stayed two days ; and thence by 
jockart's Folly to Georgetown, when we 
;ot to the boundary house, we encamped 
or a short time to rest, and Col. Alston, 
I wealthy gentleman of the neighborhood, 
ame to see Gen. Nash, and told him that 
le could show him a better camping 
round, which was an elevated neck of 
ind covered with hickory and other good 
irewood. The trees were covered with 
3ng moss from the top to the ground ; 
•nd of this we made excellent beds. There 
re stayed about a month waiting for fur- 
toer orders, where we cut and cleared 
early a hundred acres of land. During 
;ur continuance here, those who had 
een enlisted by our Major McCrae for 
,ix months and returned during the war, 
pplied to their Captain for this discharge; 
ut he was not aware that any in the 
imp had been enlisted for six months, 
"hey then applied to their old Captain, 
'•ho had been promoted to the rank of 

Major ; but he told them, in reply to their 
just request, that he would have them put 
under guard and punished according to 
the martial laws. This rebuff they were 
forced to bear and remain in silence ; but 
concerted a plan for their own relief; for 
in the morning it was found that nine 
had deserted, some of whom were never 
taken, notwithstanding the claims resting 
upon them. Arch. Bone acted as pilot to 
these deserters — the rest were late desert- 
ers from Scotland, viz : John Currie and 
Arch. Crawford. Three were colored 
people, Gears, Billy, George and Jack. — 
The other three were McDonald, George 
Thomas, and Zack. 

From this pleasant place we marched 
for Charleston, S. C, and crossed the Pee 
Dee at a place called Winyaw, about half 
way between Georgetown and the inlet. 
Thence to Charleston, and there we had 
orders not to go any farther towards Au- 
gustine. We then marched back across 
Cooper river to HadrelPs Point, opposite 
to Fort Sullivan, vhere we lay the re- 
maining part of the winter and spring un- 
til March 1777, and where we were fed on 
fresh pork and rice as our constant diet. 
About the 15th of March, we received or- 
ders to march to the North and join 
Washington's grand army. We marched 
to Wilmington, N. C, and thence to Hali- 
fax, where we crossed the Roanoke river. 
After leaving the ferry and marching up 
the river about two miles, we came to a 
fishery ; and, the commanding officer 
having desired leave for his men to draw 
the seine, which was readily granted, by 
drawing it once, we drew so many that 
you would hardly miss from the pile 
caught, what we took for our breakfast. 

We then marched on, and crossed the 
Meherrin, at Hick's ford. Next morning 
my friend Hilton asked me if I would not 
like to see old Janus, and I told him I 
would, " Well, I can show you his shape," 
as he was going that morning to see his 
wife and family. I told him that I did 



not know that he had a wife. He said he 
had and I should go with him to see 
them. On our way wc went by the sta- 
bles whtre old Janus stood, or rather his 
skin newly cased with crystals for eyes ; 
bulk he looked so firm that you would 
scarcely venture up to the stall where he 
stood. We went on to Mrs. Hilton's who 
lived with her mother and two sons, 
where we stayed two days. Mr. Hilton 
then took a couple of horses and a negro 
to bring them back, which we rode until 
we overtook the Brigade. As we passed 
through the State of Virginia, we could 
scarcely march two miles at a time with- 
out being stopped by gentlemen and la- 
dies who were coming to the road pur- 
posely to see us. We stopped two days 
at Williamsburg and rested. We then 
marched on and crossed James river at 
the town of Richmond, where there were 
Ushers; and, we having got leave there 
also to draw the seine, every man took as 
many fish as he wanted. While passing 
through the town a shoemaker stood in 
his door and cried, — " Hurra for King 
George," of which no one took any no- 
tice ; but after halting in a wood, a little 
distance beyond, where we cooked and 
ate our fish, the shoemaker came to us 
and began again to hurra for King George. 
When the General and his aids mounted 
and started, he still followed them, hur- 
raing for King George. Upon which the 
General ordered him to be taken back to 
the river and ducked. We brought him 
hack and got a long rope, which we tied 
about the middle, round his middle, and 
scsawed him backwards and forwards un- 
til we had him nearly drowned ; but eve- 
ry time he got his head above water he 
would cry for King George. The Gen- 
eral having then ordered him to be tarred 
and feathered, a feather bed was taken 
from his own house, where were his wife 
and four likely daughters crying and be- 
seeching their father to hold his tongue, 
but still he would not. We tore the bed 

open and knocked the head out of a tar 
barrel, into which we plunged him head 
long. He was then drawn out by the 
heels and rolled in the feathers until he 
was a sight ; but still he woidd hurra for 
King George. The General now ordered 
him to be drummed out of the West end 
of town, and told him expressly that if he 
plagued him any more in that way he 
would have him shot. So we saw no more 
of the shoemaker. 

We then marched on until we came to 
the Potomac river ; but, early in the 
morning, when we were getting to the 
river, we were halted and all the doctors 
were called upon to innoculate the men 
of the Brigade with the small pox, which 
took them until two o'clock. We then 
crossed the river at Georgetown, about 
8 miles above Alexandria, near the place 
where Washington city now stands. — 
There wc got houses and styed until wc 1 
were well of the small pox. I having 
had the pox before, attended on the of- 
ficers of my company until they got well, 
but what is very strange, in the whole' 
Brigade, there was not one man lost by 
pox, except one by the name of Griffin, 
who, after he had got able to go about, 
I thought he was well, imprudently went 
to swim in the Potomac, and next morn 
ing he was dead. About the last of Juntj 
we left Georgetown for Philadelphia. - 
About twelve miles from Baltimore, 1 
was taken sick and helpless in the road 
Lieutenant Dudley, Sergeant Dudley and 
some others stayed to bury me, when ii 
was thought I would die ; but, seeing thai 
I was not dying nor coming to my sen 
scs they took me on their back, tun 
about, until they came up with a wagon 
The doctors saw me, but would not ven 
ture to give me anything, as they did no 
understand my complaint. ■ I lay so unti 
about midnight, when our sutler, wh<, 
had been gone for four days after a loat 
of whiskey, came into camp. Lieutenan 
Hadley got some spirit, about a spoonful 


down my throat, which he thought help- 
ed me. He then gave me about a wine 
glassful, and in about fifteen or twenty 
minutes I came to my speech. Finding 
that the whiskey helped me, he gave it to 
. me until daylight, at which time my com- 
plaint was discoved to be the measels. I 
was then put into a wagon and carefully 
nursed by Lieut. Hadley, until I got welL 
Going on our march, about two miles 
above Susquehanna river, I saw an old 
woman with her son and daughter about 
twelve years old, and on hearing her 
speak to them in my mother tongue, I 
asked her how she came here. She 
thanked her Maker, that she had met 
with one who could talk with her, and told 
me that her son had been transported for 
a frivolous crime, committed in his own 

country, that he had been sentenced to be 
sold for seven year's servitude in the State 
of Maryland, and that having no other 
son, and not willing to have a separation 
from him for ever, she had followed him 
here with her little daughter. I told him 
if he would enlist with us, he would fin- 
ish hie servitude at once. He said, if he 
thought so, he would do it. I told him 
that no man dare take him out of the ser- 
vice, and I would ensure him. Upon 
which I gave him two dollars and told 
him he should have the rest of his boun- 
ty. Before night the old woman said she 
would go also, and when I urged her not 
to do it, she was determined, and going 
for her baggage, she returned to camp, 
that night 


Let not the charge of presumption be 
brought against us for honestly differing 
with Goldsmith in his criticism of Ham- 
let's Soliloquy. AVe would not — if we 
could — injure in the slightest degree, his 
reputation as a writer. If on no other 
account — because he is our favorite au- 
thor. But, though his style may be ever 
so good, both for its idiosyncrasy and the 
substance it contains, yet he never was a 
very accurate critic. And though Shak- 
speare's reputation cannot be advanced, 
nor Goldsmith's diminished, by any 
thing we may write, still it will be inter- 
esting to see how unjustly the latter criti- 
cizes Hamlet's soliloquy. It has been ad- 
Vol. IV.— No. 11. 

mired by many who delight in Shakspeare, , 
yet we have never seen an attempt to 
vindicate it against the charges of Gold- 
smith. Whether this judgment is blind- 
ly submitted to through veneration for 
the critic, or because the admirers of 
Shakspeare did not think the criticism 
worthy of notice, we cannot say. But 
let us proceed to the criticism. " The 
soliloquy in Hamlet, which we have so 
often heard extolled in terms of admira- 
tion, is, in our opinion, a heap of absurdi- 
ties, whether we consider the situation, 
the sentiment, the argumentation, or the 
poetry. Hamlet is informed by the Ghost, 
that his father was murdered, and there- 



fore he is tempted* to murder himself, 
even after he had promised to take ven- 
geance on the usurper, and expressed the 
utmost eagerness to achieve this enter- 
prise. It does not' appear that he had the 
least reason to wish for death ; but every 
motive, which may be supposed to influ- 
ence the mind of a young prince, concur- 
red to render life desirable — revenge to- 
wards the usurper ; love for the fair Ophe- 
lia and the ambition of reigning. Be- 
sides, when he had an opportunity of dy- 
ing without being accessary to his own 
death ; when he had nothing to do, but 
in obedience to his uncle's command, to 
allow himself to be conveyed quietly to 
England, where he was sure of suffering 
death ; instead of amusing himself with 
meditations on mortality, he very wisely 
consulted the means of self-preservation, 
turned the tables upon his attendants and 
returned to Denmark. But granting him 
•to have been reduced to the lowest state 
©f despondence, surrounded with nothing 
•but horror and despair, sick of this life, 
and eager to tempt futurity, we shall see 
how far he argues like a philosopher." 

In the first sentence the critic says, 
" the soliloquy in Hamlet, which we have 
go often heard extolled in terms of admi- 
ration, is, in our opinion, a heap of ab- 
surdities, whether we consider the situa- 
tion, the sentiment, the argumentation or 
the poetry." Whether or not, it is "a heap 
of absurdities," we shall presently see. — 
Let us begin with his situation. " Ham- 
let is informed by the Ghost, that his 
father was murdered, and therefore, he is 
tempted to murder himself, even after he 
had promised to take vengeance on the 
usurper, and expressed the utmost eager- 
ness to achieve this enterprise." Here is 
a conclusion, that neither the fact, nor 
the premises justify. It is true that Ham- 
let was informed by the Ghost that his 
father was murdered by his uncle, but it 
doest'nt follow that, therefore, he wished 
.to. murder himself. Such was not the 

fact. There were a host of troubles 
that pressed sorely upon him, and weigh- 
ed down by these, he could scarce- 
ly do otherwise, than consider whether 
life or death were preferable. When this 
world is a source of continual misery, 
when nothing is left the poor victim, but 
to pine away in brooding over his own 
evils, when there is no earthly comfort or 
consolation to the weary soul, then may 
he very well think of trying another 
world — another mode of existence. Such 
was the condition of Hamlet. His father 
— the King — was murdered by his uncle, 
the honor of his mother stained and a plot 
laid against his own life. The marriage 
of his mother, to his uncle, followed close 
upon the death of his father, so closely 
that the funeral meats served the wed- 
ding-feast. But, even though he had 
promised the Ghost of his father to re- 
venge his death upon the usurper, and, 
though he appeared very "eager to achieve 
this enterprise," j'et the wavering and 
irresolution of Hamlet are very natural. 
His feelings — when he made this promise 
— must be taken into consideration. He 
did not coolly and calmly resolve to re- 
venge his father's murder, but, when his 
feelings were wrought upon to the high- 
est pitch by the recountment of the Ghost, 
then he determined on bloody deeds. — 
But, though he had decided what course 
to take, sometimes doubts and gloomy 
thoughts would arise, and he did'nt know 
what to do. Shakspeare, somewhere 
says, that resolutions, which are made in 
a passion, die a away as soon as the pas- 
sion is over, which supported them. This 
may account for Hamlet's irresolution. — 
But the critic goes on to say, "it does not 
appear that he had the least reason to 
wish for death ; every motive, which may 
be supposed to influenced the mind of a 
young prince, concurred to render life de- 
sirable — revenge towards the usurper' — 
love for the fair Ophelia — and the ambi- 
tion of reigning." I think, we have shown 


that there was some reason for his con- 
sidering the question, whether it was bet- 
ter to live or die. But let that be. Cer- 
tainly every motive did not concur to 
render life desirable. If there were such 
motives as the critic has represented, we 
should have to suppose Hamlet a second 
Nero, before he could render life desira- 
ble. He would be obliged to wade 
through a sea of blood of near relatives. 
But all of these, motives did not exist. — 
His love to Ophelia was not real ; it was 
only a mask for his madness. And he 
succeded so far, that Polonius assigned to 
the King this, as the cause of his mad- 
ness. " Ambition of reigning " was a 
thing so far from his mind that he seems 
scarcely ever to have mentioned it. How 
then can the critic say "every motive, 
which may be supposed to influence the 
mind of a young prince, concurred to ren- 
der life desirable ?" But this is not all. — 
He further says, " besides, when he had 
( an opportunity of dying without being 
accessary to his own death — when he had 
nothing to do, but in obedience to bis un- 
cle's commands, to allow himself to be 
quietly conveyed to England where he 
was sure of suffering death — instead of 
amusing himself with meditations on mor- 
tality, he very wisely consulted the means 
of self-preservation, turned the tables up- 
on his attendants and returned to Den- 
mark." This is so unjust and absurd 
that it needs no comment. So much for 
Hamlet's situation. The critic next pro- 
ceeds to consider the argument of the soli- 
loquy. " In order to support this general 
charge against an author so universally 
held in veneration — whose very errors 
have helped to sanctify his character, 
among the multitude, we will descend to 
particulars, and analyze this famous soli- 

Hamlet, having assumed the disguise 
of madness, as a cloak under which he 
might the more effectually revenge his 
father's death upon the murderer and 

usurper, appears alone upon the stage in 
a pensive and melancholy attitude, and 
communes with himself in these words : 

" To be or not to be, that is the question — 
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind, to suffer 
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune ; 
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, 
And, by opposing, end them? — To die, — to 

sleep — 
No more — and by a sleep to say we end 
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks 
That flesh is heir to — 'tis a consummation 
Devoutly to be wished. To die — to sleep — 
To sleep ? Perchance to dream ; ay there's the 

rub ; 
For in that sleep of death, what dreams may 

Must give us pause ; there's the respect, 
That makes calamity of so long life ; 
For who would bear the whips and scorns ol 

The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's con- 
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, 
The insolence of office, and the spurns 
That patient merit of th' unworthy takes, 
"When he himself might his quietus make 
With a bare bodkin ? Who would fardels bear, 
To grunt and sweat under a weary life, 
But that the dread of something after death, — 
The undiscovered country, from whose bourne 
No traveler returns — puzzles the will, 
And makes us rather bear those ills we have, 
Than fly to others that we know not of? 
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all, 
And thus the native hue of resolution 
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, 
And enterprises of great pith and moment — 
With this regard, their currents turn envy 
And lose the name of action." 

We have already observed, that there 
is not, any apparent circumstance in 
the fate or situation of Hamlet, that 
should prompt him to harbor one thought 
of self-murder ; and therefore these ex- 
pressions of despair imply an impropriety 
in point of character." Now we have ob- 
served that there is some cause of his con- 
sidering the question "to be, or not to 
be," and therefore these expressions of 
despair do not " imply an impropriety in 
point of character." " But supposing his 
condition was truly desperate, and he saw 



no possibility of repose but in the uncer- 
tain harbor of death, let us see in what 
manner he argues on that subject. The 
question is, ' to be, or not to be ' — to die 
by my own hand, or live and suffer the 
miseries of life." Thus far the critic is 
correct in his exposition of "to be, or 
not to be." But the next step, he misses 
the meaning wofully. He says very tru- 
ly that Hamlet " proceeds to explain the 
alternative in these terms : 

" Whether it is nobler in the rniud, to suffer 
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, 
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, 
And, by opposing, end them ?" 

But he mistakes the meaning of the al- 
ternatives altogether. For he says, "here 
he deviates from his first proposition, and 
death is no longer the question. The 
only doubt is, whether he will stoop to 
misfortune, or exert his faculties in order 
to surmount it. Hamlet certainly does 
not deviate from the question of life and 
death. The critic says that " death is no 
longer the question." but death simply 
was not the question at all. It was " to 
be, or not to be" — life and death. And, 
when Hamlet says, 

" Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer, 
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune," 

he only means to state his proposition 
more fully — to tell what "to be" is, viz, 
" to suffer the miseries of life." The 
other alternative is in these words : 

" Or to take arms against a sea of troubles 
And, by opposing, end them," 

That the way, Hamlet means to "and 
his troubles by opposing them," is noth- 
ing more than to fall by his own hand, 
and thus " not to be," is quite obvious 
from what immediately follows, 
" To die, to sleep, &c." 

How then, and where does Hamlet leave 
the subject? The critic continues, "he 
now drops this idea and reverts to his 
reasoning on death." He never had this 

idea, and, therefore, could not drop it. — 
In speaking of his being deterred from 
committing suicide, by the fears of what 
might succeed death, the critic says, " this 
might be a good argument in a heathen 
or Pagon, and such indeed Hamlet really 
was ; but Shakespeare has already repre- 
sented him as a good Catholic, who must 
have been acquainted with the truths of 
revealed religion, and says expressly in 
this very play, 

"Had not the everlasting fixed. 
His cannon 'gainst self-murder." 

Surely the critic need not wonder at Ham- 
let's fears of what he might be after 
death, even though he was a " good Ca- 
tholic" and a sincere christian. Gold- 
smith,, in his intimate acquaintance with 
Samuel Johnson, must have learned that 
the great champion of truth and morali- 
ty *was ever afraid of death. Not of the 
simple act of dying, but of what he 
should be after death. He never suffered 
his friends to broach that subject in fami- 
liar conversation. On one occasion he 
became furiously mad with Boswell for 
mentioning it, and wished not to see him 
again under a day. " Let me not see 
you to-morrow." If, then the great Sam- 
uel Johnson, Goldsmith's friend, was so 
afraid of death, why might not the hea- 
then Hamlet, or the "good Catholic" 
have his fears likewise ? We can see no 
impropriety in this. Goldsmith ridicules, 
or at least makes the attempt to ridicule 
what Hamlet says about death, 
"The dread of something after death 
Makes us rather bear those ills we have, 
Than fly to others that we know not of." 

To say nothing of the sin of suicide, 
this consideration alone ought to deter 
any one from taking that step. After 
censuring this part of Hamlet's speech, 
he proceeds, " Nor is Hamlet more accu- 
rate in the following reflection : 
" Thus conscience does make cowards of us all," 

A bad conscience will make us cowards, 


but a good conscience will make us brave. 
It does not appear that anything lay hea- 
vy or^ his conscience ; and from the pre- 
mises we cannot help infering, that 
conscience in this case was entirely out 
of the question. Hamlet was deterred 
from suicide by a full conviction, that, in 
flying from one sea of troubles which he 
did know, he should fall into another 
which he did not know." I think, vwe 
might very well apply to Goldsmith, 
what he said of Hamlet, viz., that he was 
not very accurate in these reflections. — 
He says, " a bad conscience will make us 
cowards, but a good conscience will make 
us brave." This is very true in respect 
of mere animal courage, or that bravery 
which would make us dare to meet a foe ; 
but there is some difference in braving a 
mortal enemy and death. None but the 
true christian possesses the courage that 
fears nothing — not even death. But this 
is not all, he further says, "it does not 
appear that anything lay heavy on his 
conscience ; and from the premises we 
cannot help inferring, that conscience 
was entirely out of the question." If 
" conscience was entirely out of the ques- 
tion," how did Hamlet come to the con- 
clusion that " in flying from one sea of 
troubles which he did know, he should 
fall into another which he did not know ?" 
Surely not by any process of reasoning. 
Shakespeare does not pretend to make 
Hamlet see through the veil which sepa- 
rates life and death. For how is it pos- 
sible for our finite faculties to reach be- 
yond the pale of this world and compass 
the infinite? It seems to us that " con- 
science is rather used in the sense of con- 
sciousness. It was the consciousness of 
what was to be after death, that makes 
Hamlet conclude rather to bear the ills of 
this life than the unknown ills of an- 

Goldsmith next proceeds to throw the 
whole argument and soliloquy into the 
syllogistic form ; and the result is that he 

makes a confused and jumbled mass more 
absurd than he thought the soliloquy. — 
It is so long and tedious that it is worse 
than useless to quote it. He so obvious- 
ly mistook the meaning in more instances 
than one, that it is impossible for his pre- 
mises to be correct ; and were his premi- 
ses always correct, his conclusions are 
not. But let us next consider the expres- 
sions used by Hamlet : " This soliloquy 
is not less exceptionable in the propriety 
of expression, than in the chain of argu- 
mentation." In our opinion, if the ex- 
pressions are equal to the argumentation, 
they will do very well. But let us go on. 
He says "to die — to sleep — no more," 
contains an ambiguity, which all the art 
of punctuation cannot remove : for it may 
signify that " to die," is to sleep no more ; 
or the expression " no more," may be 
considered as an abrupt apostrophe in 
thinking, as if he meant to say, "no more 
of that reflection." Now, though " all 
the art of punctuation," fails to interpret 
this expression, common sense may. — 
When Hamlet says, " to die — to sleep — 
no more," he means to say, not that " to 
die" was to sleep no more, nor, " no more 
of that reflection," but simply that " to 
die," was " to sleep ;" and to sleep the 
sleep of death, was to "be no more." That 
this is the meaning, is obvious from what 
he says a moment after, when he recon- 
siders the latter alternative — death : 

" For in that sleep of death, what dreams may 

When we are shuffled off this mortal coil, 
Must give us pause. 

This seems clear enough to us ; but 
Goldsmith must have tried to see how 
little he could understand of this " fam- 
ous soliloquy." The truth is, he did not 
understand it at all. He mistakes Ham- 
let's meaning in the very out-set, and pro- 
ceeds to criticize the rest of the soliloquy 
in accordance with his misunderstanding 
of the first part. Of course, this would 
make it appear very ridiculous and ab- 



surd. In attempting to expose Shakes- 
peare, Goldsmith has only displayed some 
of his own defects. He certainly might 
have better understood Hamlet's soliloquy 
if he had given it a close and atten- 
tive perusal. The general meaning and 
argumentation are easily perceived. It 
is true, some of the expressions and fi- 
gures may be questioned and censured ; 
but not in terms of unqualified disappro- 
bation and wholesale abuse. But let us 
take a short review of this soliloquy, 
and then we will drop the subject. 

Hamlet conversing with himself says, 
that the question is " to be, or not to be 
— life and death ; and then proceeds to 
state what " to be and not to be" are, 
more fully. " To be" was to bear the mi- 
series and misfortunes of life; "not to 
be," was to put an end to them by op- 
posing them — "to die." He concludes 
that death is preferable so far as it relates to 
this world ; but when he considers what 

might be the consequences of death — 
the ills of another world, he changes his 
judgment and says, " it is better to* suffer 
present troubles, than fly to others I do 
not know." Nothing, but the fears of 
what might succeed death, could deter 
him from suicide. He ascribes these fears 
to conscience Or consciousness. I think 
this is the sum, substance and meaning 
of Hamlet's soliloquy. This has ever 
been considered one of Shakespeare's best 
plays ; for ourselves we are not prepared 
to make any criticism upon it. But we 
think that those who undertake to criti- 
cize any of Shakespeare's plays, should 
study them long and closely, lest they be- 
tray the weakness of Goldsmith. But 
one thing is very certain — no matter how 
many critics may rise — unless man chan- 
ges his nature — the fame of Shakespeare 
will last while time does. 



That the religion of Mahomet, and at 
present the almost universal religion of 
Arabia and many other countries, was 
founded or reduced to the Koran by a 
fanatic, is unquestionably true ; but the 
principles involved in it, and the celerity 
with which it was propagated and em- 
braced by the tribes of Arabia, prove that 
he who originated it was a man possessed 
of no small degree of talent and genius. 
The persecution to which Mahomet was 
subjected, the derisions, scoffs and sneers 
which he suffered from his former friends 

and relations, the indignities offered to 
his person and to the persons of the few 
followers, who braved the ridicule and 
scorn of their countrymen in sharing the 
fortune of this out-cast, the dangers to 
which his life was ever exposed for the 
first four years after declaring his relig- 
ion, a religion altogether unknown to the 
Arabs before, undoubtedly prove him to 
have been a man of no ordinary energy, 
perseverance and decision of character. — 
Though an exile from his home a wander- 
ing out-cast from society, derided by some 



as a madman, hunted by others as a mon- 
ster, reviled and despised by all. Yet his 
faith was never once shaken, the belief 
that he would finally triumph over those 
by whom he was then persecuted, re- 
mained firmly fixed in his mind. 

But while he was thus driven, he scarce 
knew or cared whither, his little band of 
followers were slowly increasing, and it 
is as wonderful as true, that we scarce 
find an instance on record where he was 
ever deserted by any who once embraced 
his creed, and united their fortunes to his. 
It does seem that there was Divine 
Agency at work with Mahomet. His al- 
most miraculous escapes from assassina- 
tions when it appeared that nothing could 
save him from the impending danger, 
would almost prove to an unprejudiced 
mind, that some Divine Guardian Spirit 
was ever his attendant, rescuing and pre- 
serving him from all danger. 

Mahomet is represented to us as a man 
whose early life was guided and governed 
by the strictest rules of morality, as a 
man of unflinching integrity, and unwa- 
vering in those principles by which he 
was actuated ; but he is also represented 
to us as but a mortal man, and unable to 
adhere to those wise and unexceptional 
laws, which regulated his course of life 
while in adversity, when reverse of for- 
tune so suddenly placed him triumphant 
over his enemies, when he was able to 
retaliate upon them for the disgrace and 
hardships he had suffered at their hands. 
This is true, but nevertheless there were 
extenuating circumstances which, though 
they will not altogether free him from the 
imputation of cruelty, should at any rate 
detach from his character the stain which 
under ordinary circumstances would and 
of right should attend him. When driven 
from Mecca, the place of his nativity, he 
was offered shelter and protection for 
himself and followers by the inhabi- 
tants of Medina, and from this time his 
rise was. While but a few years previous 

he was a beggar, now he was opulent, en- 
joying all that wealth and power place at 
the disposal of man. Even now for a time 
that moderation and temperance, which 
had characterized his life heretofore, did 
not at once forsake him, nor in fact did 
it ever entirely, though he had changed 
from peaceable persuasion to the more 
powerful argument, the sword, though a 
continued stream of gold was ever pouring 
into his coffers, the tribute paid by these 
tribes whom he had brought under sub- 
jection, though a fifth part of the plun- 
der, taken in the wars he was ever carry- 
ing on, was set apart at the pleasure and 
discretion of the prophet. Yet, as fast 
as received it was distributed in charita- 
ble purposes, and not merely among those 
who had been his followers from the first, 
who had stood by him in the darkest 
hours of his adversity, sharing with him 
the denunciation of his countrymen, to- 
gether with all the perils of starvation 
and exposure to which, for so long a 
time he was subjected, but those who 
were his former enemies, whom he had 
forced to acknowledge his authority, by 
the almost invariable success of his arms 
were equally recipients of his favor and 
charity, but notwithstanding the prospe- 
rity and affluence to which he had attain- 
ed, no luxuries were allowed either to 
himself or his family, but he still main- 
tained that plaincess, almost rudeness, 
which often brought upon him the ridicule 
of those princes against whom he was 
waging war. 

Let what may be charged to his me- 
mory, the ciime of cupidity and avarice 
sure never can be, with truth and jus- 
tice. Mahomet has been branded as aft 
impostor, in one particular, he may, per- 
haps, have been deserving of this appella- 
tion. In claiming to have been the prophet 
of God. We admit that he was imposing 
on the credulity of his superstitious coun- 
trymen, but whether he deserves the cen- 
sure we generally bestow upon imposters 



is questionable. "When we consider the 
principles involved in that religion which 
he was propagating, how closely allied 
to ours, the immense amount of good it 
was working among those who embraced 
it, we are compelled to grant to him in 
dulgence which to others would be de- 

We should not be too harsh in judging 
him, when we consider the time and coun- 
try in which, and the people among whom 
hq lived ; when we consider that he was 
an unlettered man, a man destitute of even 
the simplest rudiments of learning ; when 
we consider the disadvantages under 
which he labored in compiling the Koran, 
all demanding leniency at our hands, we 
should, I say, grant to him some indul- 
gence, which we could not consistently 
grant to all. 

We should remember that Mahomet 
did not profess to institute a new religion, 
but merely to restore that which had de- 
scended direct from God. He had heard 
passages of the Holy Scriptures read by 
christian Sectarians, and had become con- 
vinced of the purity of the doctrines there- 
in taught. He saw in comparing it with 
the religion of his people (which was the 
worst form of heathenism, that it posses- 
sed insuperable advantages over theirs ; 
that while theirs was a mere form from 
which they could possibly derive no ben- 
efit, that that of the* christians was calcu- 
lated to raise them from that demoralized 
and degraded condition in which they 
were plunged, and place them in a posi- 
tion, if not equal to that of civilized na- 
tions, at least superior to that of any 
heathen nation. But why it may be ask- 
eu" did he pretend to receive the Koran 
through communications direct from God? 
In this, without doubt, he acted deceptive- 
ly towards his people, and often deceiv- 
ed himself, but let us recollect that he 
was not a christian, that he had not had 
instilled into his mind those christain 
precepts in his youth, which we learned 

in a christain land, a land in which heath" 
enism is unknown, and known only to 
the worship of the true and living Gocl, 
are blessed with. In his youth he was 
surrounded by friends and relations 
whose religion was the grossest Idolatry, 
who were ever ready to shed their last 
drop of blood in its defence, and we could 
not consequently expect his principles to 
be as pure as ours. In establishing Ma- 
hometism, he had to combat and over- 
throw the long established religion of his 
country ; the prejudices of his country- 
men had to be struggled with, and it was 
only by some bold stroke, some powerful 
appeal which would work upon their su- 
perstitutions, that this could possibly be 
effected. In the beginning he intended 
to deceive others, in the end he was the 
deceived.'* His mind had become so 
wrought upon, and his thought so fully 
engrossed with the cause in which he had 
embarked that he had brought himself 
to believe that his dream, the workings of 
a frenzied imagination, were divine revela- 

So anxious was he that idolatry should 
be abolished, and that the people should 
kneel only to the true God, that he even 
went so far as to prohibit pictures and 
images of the saints and living beings, be- 
ing kept in the house of any one, under 
penalty of incurring the displeasure of 
Allah. He saw merely a rough out- 
line, a faint glimmering of the great doc- 
trines of the Bible, yet he had seen 
enough to assure him of its utility, to as- 
sure him of the justice and equity incul- 
cated by its holy precepts and principles, 
and to arouse in his bosom an enthusiasm, 
which actuated him to devote his life, his 
whole soul and energies, to disseminate 
what he knew of it, among the heathen, 
his countrymen. 

Every country has produced its Hero, 
there was Hannibal the Carthegcnian, Al- 
exander of Macedonia, Napoleon of France, 
Washington of America, Caesar the Ro- 



man and Mahomet of Arabia. Each coun- 
try boasts her own as being the greatest, 
but to decide impartially, we must follow 
them through the whole course of their 
lives, more especially we must look to their 
conduct in times of prosperity. Alexan- 
der sunk in a drunkard's grave ; Ctesar 
met his death by the patriotic hand of 
Brutus, who "loved Caesar, but loved his 
country more ;" Napoleon's life was one 
continued series of wars for personal ag- 
grandizement and self-interest ; Mahomet 
is one of those noble, disinterested few 

whom success and prosperity was unable 
to render giddy, and whom power failed 
to corrupt ; whose lives were devoted to 
their country and their country's interest, 
who never in ambition's struggles for self, 
lost sight of this one magnanimous ob- 
ject. Who can read the life of Mahomet 
without having their feelings and sym- 
pathies enlisted in his behalf? If there 
be any, sure I am not of the number. 

Chapel Hill, April, 1855. 


Hope and Memory once contended for 
the heart of Olivia. She was young, and 
Hope plumed herself for an easy victory. 
No cloud had as yet risen upon her path, 
and no blight had yet fallen upon the 
flowers that were bursting in pristine 
beauty at every step. To her the past 
was yet as nothing, and Memory had no 
talisman to awaken the slumbering chords 
of her heart : but Hope was the angel of 
her existence that led her from joy to 
joy, from beauty to beauty, and seemed 
to hover around the flowers she was ga- 
thering, ever ready when wounded by the 
thorns, that lie concealed amid their 
brightness, to win her away to some 
sparkling fountain, and steep in the ho- 
ney-dews of oblivion, the wound pierced 
by the poisoned arrow of the treacherous 

When, with a weary step, she turned 
away from the pursuit of some fancied 

happiness to find peace in slumber and 
forgetfulness. Hope was ever by her 
couch with the promise of a better mor- 
row, a painless pleasure, a thornless flow- 
er. With Hope she had given the seeds 
to the bosom of the earth, and with Hope 
she had gazed upon the } r oung buds that 
were just bursting into beauty and love- 
liness. Hope pointed her to the richness 
of the full-blown flower ; but told her no 
tale of its faded splendor, for she knew, 
alas, that like her own reign, it, too, must 
soon pass away. Hope was chosen and 
Memory turned with a tear from the vic- 
tory of her rival. 

The beauty of many summers had fa- 
ded, and Memory again returned to con- 
tend with Hope, for that heart. But it 
was changed, the dreams had vanished, 
the flowers had withered, the fountains 
were sealed, and the conrpieror had de- 
parted, the fires of love he had kindled 



upon the altars of that heart had expired, 
the altars were overthrown and the idols 
were broken. Memory sought the couch. 

Silent and unconscious she lay gazing 
upon the dying splendours of the setting 
sun as if happy in the thought that ere 
long she should follow its departing 

Her dark and beautiful eye tho' chilled 
in its warmth and dim'd in its brightness, 
was still lovely in its faded brilliance, and 
her fair hair rested on her pure and deli- 
cate bosom like the floss sunbeams said 
to have been intertwined with the mar- 
ble ringlets of the " Madonna of Guido !" 
while that sweet smile, the last trophy of 
the conqueror's triumph — still lingered on 
those parian lips, as the ivy clings to the 
mouldering ruin. Yet so lifeless seemed 
it, that it vied in coldness with the young 
flower of spring that is frozen in its 
splendour, and which turns from the 
warm sun lest the kindness that would 
restore it to its lost loveliness might de- 
stroy it forever. Memory approached her 
couch and sought to arouse her from the 
silence of her slumbers. She won her 
back to the sunny hours so long departed, 
and sought to awaken bright dreams of 
their forgotten radiance. She brought 
the fragrance of the flowers she had loved 
in her childhood — the echoes of flute-like 
notes which her own bright bird had 
warbled in her ear, and dearer than all 

the holy words of kind and tender hearts 
long since forgotten and unheeded, the 
smile again played upon her lips, and the 
eye sparkled with a faint sweet radiance 
as she looked up and blessed Memory, 
that she had sought her in death with a 
balm for the wounded heart. "When the 
morning rose again, Memory sought for 
Olivia, (for Memory never resists our 
dreams,) and she found her rival Hope, 
but Hope too was changed. She had 
triumphed and her trophy was a ruin, 
her laurels were seared and her wreathes 
faded, but she had come again with her 
silvery tones to woo rest and peace for 
the dying sufferer ; not with the fading 
joys of time, but with the spotless plea- 
sures of a brighter and better world — 
with the fragrance of unfading flowers 
and the wealth of unaltered affection, 
where sorrow can bring no change and 
sadness, and suffering can never come. 

The night again returned, and the pale 
moon-beams fell upon a turfless grave. — 
The lovely, the gentle, and the beautiful 
had faded away, like the rainbow's Jast 
ray — Hope wafted her pure spirit to the 
gate of Paradise and joyed as she entered 
upon the promised happiness forever.— 
Memory strewed the first flowers of 
spring upon her grave and watered thera 
with the precious rain of the bleeding 






It would be vain and arrogant in us to 
attempt to give a critical review of so uni- 
versally known and generally read work 
as the celebrated poem of Pope — his 
Eloisa to Abelard, should we do so in the 
hope of gaining applause ; but we are sa- 
tisfied that our intention will be fully ap- 
preciated by a generous public, when we 
declare it to be our purpose not to enter 
into any logical or minute critical detail, 
for we are fully aware of our total inabi- 
lity so to do ; but only to give a few 
crude and imperfect thoughts and general 
notions of that pre-eminently excellent 
production of an ingenious, fertile and 
comprehensive mind, with these feelings 
and this confidence in the readers of this 
article, we essay to begin our task wheth- 
er for success or for failure. 

In every species of composition the 
first thing to be done is to seek out and 
enquire into the subject and its nature. — 
This is as it should be, for nothing is 
more natural or important : otherwise the 
composition would be like to a man talk- 
ing, reading and reasoning without a head. 
But in this particular kind of writing, po- 
etical, we find almost an exception to ge- 
neral rule — we are not confined so close- 
ly, or in same degree to the theme — we 
have a much wider dominion. For proof 
of this proposition we refer the curious 
to the Lutrin of Boileau and the Rape of 
the Lock of our Author. But it must 
not be inferred that the poet can write or 
imagine without being guided by some 
beacon — he is only not necessitated to 
watch it so narrowly, for his is a smooth- 
er sea and a more favorable wind. 

Of the subject of this piece of Pope, 
we must say, that we regard it as having 
no inherent or intrinsic importance ; but 
the use to which it is dedicated, is most 
happy and judicious. We entertain this 
opinion, although it seems directly con- 
trary to that held by many, nay, by some 
of the best critics of modern times. — 
Among them we may number Dr. John- 
son, who has given it to be his opinion 
that, " It is so judiciously chosen that it 
would be difficult, in turning over the an- 
nals of the world, to find another which 
so many circumstances concur to recom- 
mend." This opinion, although that of an 
indisputably great man, we conceive to 
be conclusively and satisfactorily refuted 
in the subjects of the two poems above 
cited — the Lutrin and the Rape of the 
Lock. The former the best of Boileau, 
the latter, one of the best of Pope. Dr. 
Johnson, when he made that remark, ran 
into excess, we fear, from a desire to avoid 
the dictates of a prejudice against a poet, 
to whom, we opine, he has never done 
justice. In our opinion, Pope only looked 
after his subject as a pillar of clouds by 
day and a pillar of fire by night to guide 
through the boundless provinces of his 

The poem is an amorous one — the off- 
spring of a highly cultivated, elevated, 
chastened and plastic imagination, color- 
ed by the pencil of a master in his art. — 
As it is one of this character, much refin- 
ed address and exquisite skill is requisite 
in the artist to disguise all circumstances 
of an indelicate nature, that may be in- 
herent or in any way associated to it. — 
To the subject many have objected and 



many still object alleging that it has an 
immoral tendency. Now, this will appear 
so only to those who are acquainted with 
the circumstances of the story of Eloisa 
and Abelard and are fastidious or over 
modest — or as a learned professor of our 
acquaintance would have it, half civilized; 
nothing in the poetry itself, either immo- 
ral or any of its cognate qualities can 
strike the general reader,nay I may say the 
most careful. We must not consider the 
amours of those lovers, for the very good 
reason that the poet does not consider 
them, nor does he wish to do so, but con- 
fines himself to those of the mistress after 
her retreat from the world and seclusion in 
a convent— after her appointment as ab- 
bess of a nunnery founded by her husband. 
Therefore in a commentation on the work 
we must confine our considerations to the 
author's intention — 

" In every work regard the writer's end 
Since none can compass more than they intend." 

In point of poetical excellence, this 
poem is regarded as far superior to any 
of the other productions of Pope. The 
opinion is just, if it be the end of poetry to 
portray the actions of all the active prin- 
ciples of man's mind, save those of the 
understanding ; which description is sub- 
ject to or confined within certain limits 
including such rules as are cognizable and 
amenable only to a certain, as yet imper- 
fectly defined, standard called Taste. As 
a proof of the poem's excellence, we 
would suggest to those who are not wil- 
ling to peruse the whole, to read however 
hastily, the first eight lines. "We will 
repeat them for the edification of some of 
our readers, if not for that of all : 

In these deep solitudes and awful cells, 
Where heavenly-pensive contemplation dwells, 
And ever-musing melancholy reigns, 
What means this tumult in a vestal's veins. 

Why rove my thoughts beyond this last re- 
Why feels my heart its long-forgotten heat? 

Yet, yet I love ! — From Abelard it came, 
And Eloisa yet must kiss the name. 

In these lines the true genius of poetry 
is clearly discernible and forcibly impress- 
ed on the mind of the most careless and 
cursory reader. - True judgment united 
to the most severe and rigid critical 
acument and chastened taste, the most 
scholar-like elegance as well as beauty of 
diction, a happy and truly graphic de- 
scription, pleasing numbers, and rounded 
periods, are perceptible in every verse. 

Some other parts of the poem are pic- 
tured so very like nature that we almost 
forget our corporeality and imagine our- 
selves minds only in close companionship 
with that of the author. Throughout the 
entire work we see him seemingly hold- 
ing nature in one hand and copying it 
with the other, so nice are his strokes 
and his colours so happily blended. We 
are almost led to the belief that his art is 
superior to nature itself. 

In corroboration of our opinion, it 
would be better that we should instance 
the authority of poetical critics. We will 
cite the opinion of two. Dr. Warton and 
Mr. Bowles. The former says, " He con- 
ceives it to be the most highly finished 
and certainly the most interesting of the 
pieces of Pope." The latter declares it 
to be his belief that "it is infinitely su- 
perior to any thing of the kind ancient 
or modern." The decisions of such judges 
cannot but be highly commendatory to 
those unskilled in the art, nay, I may say 
to the most subtle connoiseurs. Such 
opinions are no doubt, those of every read- 
er of the piece, who has any spark of the 
poetic genius. To refute them if possible 
would require more genius and more criti- 
cal acumen than has ever yet appeared. 
Johnson might try it ; his taper would 
only burn in vain — his lucubrations would 
prove futile and his purpose abortive. — 
But happily for the present century we 
have no such critic ; none to be influenced 
by the blindest prejudice. 



The plan of the work is unexceptiona- 
ble, and we should say, unsurpassable. — 
Every topic comes in regular order and in 
their appropriate places. The transitions 
are smooth, easy and without interrup- 
tion, presenting one entire and harmoni- 
ous whole. The adjustment of the parts 
taost exquisite. In very fact it may be 
regarded as a masterpiece of poetry, one 
having no superiors and very few equals. 
I Two lessons in human nature are forci- 
bly, fully and unexpressively taught — the 
irresolution of woman and her irrefragable 
love. It demonstrates clearly and con- 
clusively that her affection when once 
firmly fixed waxes stronger and stronger 
until by separation it amounts almost to 
distraction and even finds a place in her 
above that of her maker. In her devo- 
tions the image of the object of her affec- 
tions flits constantly before her mind; 
and never are her offerings to her God 
pure and unadulterated. For instance, 
listen to Eloisa : 

" All is not Heaven's while Abolard has part 
Still rebel nature holds out half my heart, 
Nor pray'rs, nor fasts its stubborn pulse re- 
Nor tears, forages taught to flow in vain." 

She implores the name of Abelard, ne- 
ver to pass her lips, " in holy silence seal- 
ed ;" entreats her heart to hide it within 
it- close disguise, urges her hand not to 

write it ; and appeals to her tears to wash 
it out, if it be written. Such were, her 
feelings and such the agitations and tu- 
mults of her mind. Wretched, miserable 
was she in consequence of her love. But 
all her entreaties and prayers were in 
vain — they could avail nothing — her love 
was too powerful. 

'• In vain lost Eloisa weeps and prays, 
Her hf art still dictates and her hand obeys." 

Reader, one more remark and we have 
done. Do not such considerations as 
above alluded to, claim the attention of 
every reasonable and just man ? Are 
they not worth his deepest thoughts ? If 
they are, read Pope's Eloisa to Abelard. 
There you will find description of that in- 
visible cord that unites woman to man — 
3^ou will see how strong and how lasting- 
it is — not the frail fibre that connects 
brother to brother, brother to sister, and 
sister to sister, which is easily broken by 
time and distance. When you read, think; 
| think deeply, clearly and powerfully. 

Thus we have reviewed this work of dou- 
i ble excellence — excellence of matter and 
excellence of composition. We have given 
but a brief, succinct, and crude review — 
not such as the subject demands, but such 
I as our time, and, no doubt, the reader's 
J patience will permit. 





It is surprising how easily a book can 
be gotten up at the present day, i. e., how 
small an amount of writing it takes to 
constitute one. Ruth Hall is before me, 
a work of four hundred pages, which, if 
the leaves were properly filled out, and 
the margins less deep, would sink to two 
hundred and fifty. What the object of 
the " Tale," is, I am not prepared to say 
— it shows beyond a doubt, how a brave 
hearted woman can combat, and combat 
successfully, with a cold and selfish world, 
— but whether the sad history of Ruth 
Hall represents either in part or whole, 
that of Fanny Fern, or that sprig of fashion 
and heartlessness, Hyacinth, her reput- 
ed brother, I know not. However this 
may be, certain am I that it has created a 
sensation among the novel-reading por- 
tion of the community, in accordance 
with the old kitchen proverb that " a new 
broom sweeps clean." And this sensa- 
tion prevails to a greater extent among 
the '•' fair," than elsewhere, owing, no 
doubt, to that sympathy which binds 
members of the same class together, or 
better, perhaps, because women can 
reflect the sentiments of women, in 
truer lights than others. The fact 
that a woman guided the pen, is stamp- 
ed on ever}- page of Ruth Hall— there 
is not that manliness, so to speak — that 
unity of design — that perfect relation 
of parts about it ; which we find in the 
productions of more vigorous writers. — 
But if Ruth Hall does not appeal to the 
head, it does to the heart ; and whether 

she is a real or fictitious character, few 
are so mean spirited as to read without 
emotion, the narrative of her trials and 
sufferings, nor fail to recognize the power 
of a true woman's love, which can light 
up with joy and comfort, the darkest cor- 
ner of earth. 

The first part of the " Tale" is exceed- 
ingly simple, and one is hardly interested 
before he gets half through the volume. 
This is an objection, not because the for- 
mer is not as interesting as the latter 
part, but because the two do not bear that 
relation to each other in this respect, 
which they ought — many of the observa- 
tions are trite in the extreme, and the 
style is of that nature which is peculiar 
to Fanny Fern — childlike simplicity. — 
After these general remarks we will pro- 
ceed to examine more minutely the merits 
of our author in this, her new publica- 

The childhood of Ruth Ellet, was pas- 
sed under the eyes of a cross-grained 
miserly father, her mother having come 
to her death, as we suppose, when Ruth 
was quite young. Soon after her return 
from the boarding school, where her sim- 
plicity was so great as to lead her into se- 
veral innocent errors, she became the wife 
of Harry HaH. The married couple lived 
twelve disagreeable months with the pa- 
rents of the ^foresaid Harry, at whose 
home Ruth became the mother of Daisy, 
her first-born ; but on account of family 
dissensions they soon removed to a neigh- 
boring cottage, where Daisy died of the 



croup. The associations about the place 
being any thing but agreeable to the 
mother, they next removed to the city, 
where Ruth gave birth to two other child- 
ren, Katy and Nettie, after which happy 
events a most unhappy one occurred — the 
death of their noble father, Harry Hall. 
Although the parent, parents in law, and 
brother of Ruth were wealthy, she was 
now forced to support her two child- 
ren and herself by the sweat of her brow. 
After undergoing many and severe trials, 
the narration of which constitutes the 
greater part of the volume, Ruth be- 
comes celebrated as a writer under the 
name of " Floy," and the " Tale" ends 
with her retiring from the world in afflu- 
ent circumstances. 

Such is a summary of the life of Ruth 
Hall, the heroine of Ruth Hall, the ' Do- 
mestic Tale.' As in the characters of al- 
most all such persons there will be found 
something worthy of praise, so in the 
present instance there is much to be 
pleased with, while, in our judgment, 
there is also much to condemn. 

I know not why it is, but novel-writ- 
ers of the present day, contrary to what 
might be supposed to be the case, have a 
predilection for representing their leading 
characters as personifications of simplici- 
ty — perfect children of nature. A better 
illustration of this than the early life of 
Ruth Hall, could not be furnished. While 
at her boarding school this quality was so 
fully developed in her, that on account of 
it she was led ' into some unpardonable 
errors, and was often imposed upon by 
her classmates. She must have been, at this 
time, a good large girl, as the saying is^as 
is evidenced by the fact that her composi- 
tions were taken down in short hand by 
the village editor for publication in his 
paper. Such a character is little in ac- 
cordance with the present age of young 
Americanism, nor, omitting any objec- 
tion that may arise from the preceeding 
observation, is it less reprehensible, for 

it fails to show nature in her true colors. 
Simplicity is a quality we admire wher- 
ever it is found, and especially in woman, 
where it is found so seldom, but there is 
an end to everything — a virtue carried to 
an excess often becomes a vice, — and sim- 
plicity, unmixed with some knowledge of 
the world, will render one a butt for the 
wag, and a prize for the thief. I was 
forcibly reminded, while reading this part 
of Ruth Hall, of the old man mentioned 
by Addison in one of his papers, who in 
this attribute of character, seems to have 
rivaled our heroine. This simple old fel- 
low on one occasion was walking along- 
one of the streets of London about dusk 
in the evening, when, on observing a man, 
behaving in a quite affectionate manner 
towards a woman, he raised his hands in 
silent supplication to Heaven, that there 
was so much Christian charity yet in the 
world, mistaking the embrace of the lover 
for the bestowment of alms. This is not 
the only instance in Ruth Hall where we 
conceive a character to have been impro- 
perly drawn, but we will say more of this 

The lady-readers of our author will tell 
us that we have now come to the most 
interesting portion of the book, the death 
of Daisy. If Ruth Hall represents Fanny 
Fern to the letter and if the first born of 
the aforesaid Fanny died of the croup, 
then it is doubtless proper that Daisy 
should have come to her death as she did. 
It seems to me, however, from the gener- 
al character of Fanny Fern's writings, _ 
that she seeks to move her readers to 
tears when she would fail to interest them 
in any other way, and this, perhaps is the 
secret of the success of her writings with 
the fairer portion of the community, 
whose eyes arc ever ready to drop the 
tear of sympathy. Such a practice is of- 
ten resorted to, especially by female writ- 
ers of this class, and, like chanty, it cov- 
ers, in the eyes of some, a multitude of 
sins. We may be charged with want of 



candor, but we cannot forbear expressing 
the opinion, and will hold that opi- 
nion to be correct until the contra- 
ly be shown, that Daisy is introduced to 
see how many sweet things can be said of 
the dear wee one, and her death brought 
about to furnish an occasion for display- 
' irig depth of pathos — or, perhaps, in the 
future Ruth saw that she was the mother 
of two other children, and she thought, 
no doubt, that a woman, with two babes, 
dependant on her own exertions for the 
support of the three, was a fate hard 
enough for her brave, patient heart to 
bear up under. But this is merely a mat- 
ter of opinion, not of fact, and we proceed 
from these comparatively unimportant re- 
marks to those parts of the work more 
deserving of attention. 

It seems to us that our author has given 
birth to too many characters. She is of 
necessity, obliged either to drop them, or 
to kill them off. This is a vcry.convenient 
way of getting rid of a disagreeable cus- 
tomer, and is frequently made use of. — 
I have often thought how deplorable 
would be the condition of many of our 
'Domestic-Tale 1 writers if they were de- 
prived of the power of life and death over 
their characters. You have, perhaps, both 
heard of and experienced what is called 
the tediousness of the introductory por- 
tions of the prose writings of Sir Walter 
Scott. Paradoxical as it may seem, were 
it not for this very tediousness, his tales 
would lose half their interest. lie holds his 
jgersoftages up to the view, the character of 
each is distinctly drawn so accurately, that 
when they are brought out upon the thea- 
tre of action, they act in such a manner 
as the previous delineation of these char- 
acters would warrant. 

Early in the " Tale" Mrs. Leon is intro- 
duced, who promises to play a distin- 
guished part. But her exit is as sudden 
as her introduction, and we hear no moro 
of her until we are more than half through 
the book, and the manner in which we 
there stumble upon her, evinces great 

want of skill in our author. Mrs. Hall 
and her two children, taking a walk one 
afternoon accidentally passed by some 
hospital, when Nettie, being attracted by 
the flower-grounds, she enters the place, 
and there finds the dead body of Mrs. 
Leon. Apart from the objections now un- 
der considerations, this is open to the far- 
thest objection of bearing too great an 
improbability. We forbear comments so 
far as this is concerned, and proceed with 
our review. Mr. and Mrs. Skiddy are the 
next persons to whom we beg leave to 
call attention. This amiable pair have a 
few chapters to themselves, in which are 
described, with much effect, several do- 
mestic scenes, and are then consigned to 
what, in the estimation of every one, will 
be considered a worthy oblivion. Our 
friend, Mr. Bond is the last pop-and-go 
character we shall call to your uotice ; 
and while we are at this part of our sub- 
ject we would respectfully ask of any read- 
er of Ruth Hall, if he had sufficient acu- 
man, to make out what that mysterious 
noise was in the aforesaid Bond's room, 
the cause of it, and the consequence there- 
of, to speak logically — we confess we 
were unable altogether to understand it. 
Our author leaves it unexplained, and we 
are somewhat inclined to the opinion that 
it is inexplicable. It is unnecessary to 
adduce more examples to show a want of 
combination in the volume before us. — 
This is the most glaring defect in the 
plot, and she has, therefore, failed in writ- 
ing a novel, as every one must who labors 
under this disadvantage. 

One of the most unnatural things, per- 
haps, in the whole "Tale," are the puns 
put in the mouth of Nettie — they will be 
found, by the lovers of the curious, in 
the eighty-second chapter. I have heard 
members of the senior class of the Uni- 
versity of North Carolina, make worse 
and as spoken by a child some six or se- 
ven years old, it is absurd in the extreme. 
We have little to say of the persons sup- 
posed to be represented under fictitious 
names, as belonging in no Arise to the 
province of a reviewer. 




It was on a bright day near the close 
of April ; being the time appointed by 
Prentiss to address the citizens of Holmes. 
Many had gathered there to hear him sus- 
tain the position he occupied. He was 
rejected from Congress, his seat being 
contested ; it was decided against him by 
the Speaker's vote. The people demand- 
ed a new election. He was canvassing 
the whole State, having at that time one 
congressman. It required a vast amount 
of energy to do this. Prentiss was not 
the man to shrink from difficulties, but 
encountered them with a boldness that 
• might inspire the most inactive. 

He was to address the most intelligent 
audience he ever appeared before. He 
knew this was the time to make his most 
brilliant effort. Old men who had retired 
from the political arena, to spend the 
evening of their existence in the peaceful 
: pleasures of the family fireside were pre- 
sent. Add to this the martial bearing of 
the chivalrous sons of Holmes, who had 
assembled in immense numbers. A splen- 
did band had been procured for the occa- 
sion, and its martial strains floated lazily 
through the atmosphere, as if it wished to 
enthrone the young "Southern States- 
man," in a halo of glory. 

Some distance in front of the orchestra 
sat the graceful orator of the day, the 
lion of the State, and the exposer of the 
outrageous insult offered to the dignity of 
Mississippi. On his right hand sat an ex- 
senator, who had once more left the bo- 
som of an interesting family to hear this 
" forest born Demosthenes ;" on his left 
was the Chief Justice of the State. A 
Vol. IV.— No. 12. 

living sea seemed to be spread before 
him. He beheld a stern and hardy peo- 
ple, who nourished him in his infancy, 
rejoiced with him in prosperity, and were 
now determined to share the hardships 
and cruelties of his adversity. Can any 
one divine the emotions that agitated his 
bosom and vibrated the tenderest chord 
of his heart ? None but a grateful States- 
man can tell the feelings, that struggle 
like manacled giants, when surrounded 
by true and unwavering friends. Pren- 
tiss' countenance the index of a most no- 
ble heart plainly told that it was with dif- 
ficulty, he restrained his feelings. 

At length he arose. The air was rent 
with the enthusiastic vociferations of ad- 
miring thousands. A wave from his 
hand and all was silent as death, even 
breathing itself was well nigh suspended. 
His clear and deep toned voice broke the 
awful silence. 

He lavished worthy and well-timed en- 
coniums on the county, complimented the 
fair sex, and then claimed their indul- 
gence for the space of two hours. He 
wished to know, if a man must be pro- 
scribed for political opinions by men who 
were deeply saturated with party malig- 
nity ? Why were his credentials thrown 
aside, and party spirit allowed to predo- 
minate ? Why should he be stigmatized 
as a political heretic, and sent home re- 
gardless of his credentials and the people, 
who sent him there to represent them? — 
Must the bulwark of State pride and dig- 
nity, be trampled on, and no resistance 
offered ? 

Such were the questions he proposed 



and discussed most ably. The response 
to the speaker's decision was terrific. He 
was returned triumphantly to the Nati- 
onal legislative halls. 

It was a magnificent sight to see the 
wronged representative of such a law- 
abiding and country loving people, nobly 
vindicating himself from false charges 
brought against him. Well did he per- 
form his task, and much to the gratifica- 
tion of all present. He dealt severe blows, 
and each told for itself. Never had he 
made such an effort, not even in the trial 
of Willks, or when he piled " Pelian on 
Ossa " in Adams county. He knew he 
had many friends present, and this speech 
disarmed every one of enmity. Never be- 
fore had he spoken to so intelligent and 
unbiased an assembly, and well might 
his genius attempt its noblest flights; 
flights which can bear comparison with 
the finest specimens of oratory that adorn 
the annals of the world. He was em- 
barked in a true cause, and could not 
prove recreant to it, and himself, and his 

In Congress he lead a brief and bril- 
liant career, which drew applause from 
his most embittered compeers. He was 
destined to be cut off in the full vigour of 
manhood. His unwearied exertions broke 
his constitution, and left his family, as a 
legacy the fame he had won ; an unsul- 
lied character, both in private and in pub- 
lic life ; a stern integrity, which nothing 
could deter from a conscientious perform- 
ance of his duty. 

He is dead, and none have offered a 
tribute to his memory. No eulogies were 
pronounced ; no bells tolled mournfully 
over his dark and premature fate ; no 
monumental slab marks the spot where 
he rests ; the squirrel chatters over the 
sacred spot, and the huntsman ignorant of 
who sleeps beneath, pursues his game. — 
The winds howl melancholly through the 
wilderness ; the mighty river rolls on as 
calmly, as if no patriot slept near its 
bank ; the wild flowers bloom and fade 
away, emblematical of man's greatness. 
So has Prentiss, leaving behind him ves- 
tiges of his eloquence, which remind one 
of the stalk dismantled of its flower. 

" Left to tell where the garden has been." 

The only excuse that can be offered is, 
his State has yet to learn how to appre- 
ciate his greatness. The only relic that 
now can possibly be found, save a few 
speeches, is a marble slab reared by wo- 
man's affection ; on it never shall be seen 
the engraved characters of a State's grati- 
tude. Though she can boast of his genius, 
yet she can never produce the biographer 
of her wronged son. Though the palsied 
hand of tradition may hand him down to 
posterity, giving a vague and indefinite 
idea of the man, yet they shall look in 
vain for some suitable memorial left be- 
hind. He was a 

Statesman, yet friend to truth! Of soul sin- 
In action faithful, and in honor clear ! 




This fiery spirit bursts upon our view 
at Nottingham, the place where Charles 
the first raised the standard that deluged 
England with the best blood of her sons. 
Eer we can ask who he is and whence he 
came, he dazzles us with the brilliancy of 
his exploits, we are borne along with him 
with fearful rapidity over fields of war, 
sweeping armies in our course, and spread- 
ing terror and desolation over the land, 
hence o'er the Mediterranean sea, the 
Spanish main, to the courts of France 
and Austria, and again to England, where, 
in peace, he lays him down to die. 

He first saw the light in the beautiful 
city of Prague in the year 1619. His 
parents were Frederic, Prince Palatine 
of the Khine. and Elizabeth, only daugh- 
ter of James the first of England. They 
had lately accepted the kingdom of Bo- 
hemia, but it was soon rudely torn from 
them and its new born liberties crushed. 
In the battle of Prague four thousand 
sacrificed their lives to liberty, and the 
worthy few who survided, died upon the 
scaffold. The princely Elizabeth, the 
" Pearl " of Britain, now saw her darling 
hopes vanish, and herself reduced to the 
necessity of taking flight over the rugged 
mountain passes through the wintry snow. 
She escapes with her young charge to 
Holland, and the next we hear of him is 
at the University of Leyden. Here we 
learn that our Prince became well ground- 
ed in mathematics and religion, and was, 
indeed made Jesuit proof, so that those 
subtle priests with whom he had been 
much conversant, could never make him 
stagger. Here also he displayed such 
military genius, that at the age of four- 

teen he was made commander of a regi- 
ment. In the same year he was permit- 
ted to share the stern realities of war at 
the siege of Rhynberg under the Prince 
of Orange ; and we find him also bearing 
off the palm at the last tournament on 
record. Next, he is at the battle of Flo- 
ta, where with a gallant band of volun- 
teers, led by English chivalry, animated 
with his spirit they dashed at the charg- 
ing enemy. On, on they rushed, their 
white plumes waving like a foam and met 
and repelled and bore down the Austrian 
cavalry." Onward still through the thick 
coming masses, Prince Rupert alone, mad- 
dened with excitement plunges : he is sur- 
rounded, pressed, overpowered and made 
prisoner. He is conveyed to the castle of 
Lintz, a fortress of great strength situat- 
ed on the Danube, and there confined for 
three years. The entreaties of his moth- 
er for his release are vain ; the stolid in- 
difference of his brother, for whose cause 
he is now suffering, the negociations of 
his uncle offer nothing to hope for. His 
friends were denied access to him; he 
was tormented with Jesuit proselyting, 
tempted with splendid offers to abjure 
his religion ; but none of these things 
could move him. A more potent artifice 
was soon resorted to, in order to shake 
his firmness. 

The governor of the castle had a daugh- 
ter, an only, cherished child, who (says 
his biographer,) lived in his stern old 
Castle, like the delicate Dryad of some 
gnarled tree. The story of his bravery 
and misfortune touched her imagination, 
and we find her soon, by the banks of the 
"dark rolling Danube," "all attentive to 



the god-like man," as he poured forth 
some warlike tale. This was a gleam of 
sunshine through the warrior's gloom — a 
holy remembrance whispering peace amid 
the fiery commotion of armies. Those 
who saw him afterwards madly scouring 
English plains, storming English walls 
and fortresses, little knew what charm 
was in his heart that caused him to re- 
gard the person of woman as sacred, that 
made her honor his highest ideal, his 
watchword and the guardian of his own 
through life. Still he was firm in his be- 
life and purpose. In this now pleasing 
retreat his great soul yearned for Eng- 
land — the land of his youthful dreams — 
the home of his adoption. When calum- 
ny, superstition and envy recount his er- 
rors, let this be remembered. 

Prince Rupert is set free. lie flies to 
England to Nottingham, where Charles 
has raised his fatal standard. For four days 
a terrible storm beats upon that blood-red 
flag. Charles and his followers are gloomy 
and wavering. They seek earnestly to 
avoid the dread crisis. They appeal to 
Parliament, but in vain. They are an- 
swered by grievances and accusations. — 
The spirit of liberty is awake, earnest, 
inexorable. Kingly prerogative is becom- j 
ing insuffeaable : it must be limited. In ! 
this struggle shines forth the greatness of i 
the English character. The libertv-lov- I 
ing and the loyal spirit, each conscious of j 
the nobleness of its claims meet in long j 
and deadly struggle. The cavaliers j 
watchword, God and the king, time-ho- 
nored institutions and customs arm him j 
with almost sacred fury. To the Round- 
head the alternative is liberty or death. 
Whoever reads our own history knows 
the magic of these words. But the 
Roundhead soon ceased to fight for that 
liberty for which Hampden fell ; in the 
words of the historian, it was buried in 
his grave. As their cause prospered, they 
became fanatics and intolerant. Minis- 
ters of the " word," who delighted in the 
title of " Boanerges" thundered vengeance 
from the Pentateuch at the heads of their 
enemies, Psalmsinging, ranting, anathe- 
matizing were the preludes, to every bat- 
tle. Kill,, slay and destroy, were too of- 
ten the spirit of their text, and indeed, 
many of their doctrines seem better suit- 
ed for the other side of Jordan than for 
the Banks of the Thames, or for any peo- 
ple whom Christianity has blessed." 

The war has begun. Prince Rupert is 
at the head of the gallant Cavaliers. — 

They fly over England like wildfire. The 
terror of their name is sufficient to pro- 
cure them whatever they want. They 
never wait to discuss abstract questions 
of rights and wrongs. The Puritans cal- 
led them " mad devils." The women 
thought them reckless indeed, but never- 
theless a decidedly handsome set of fel- 

At the battle of Worcester, in an in- 
creditably short time they defeated the 
Roundheads. At Edgehill where the 
King himself was present, we can hear 
them in reply to the Puritan psalmody 
shouting : 

" The king has come to marshal us, all in his 

armour drest ; 
And he has hound a snow white plume upon 

his gallant crest, 
He looked upon his people and a tear was in 

his eye; 
He looked upon the traitors, and his glance 

was stern and high. 
Eight graciously he smiled on us, as rolled 

from wing to wing, 
Down all our lines a deafening shout, for 'God 

and for the King.' " 

Their first charge was irresistible, but 
it was their misfortune to lose in almost 
every battle. The spirit that made them 
invincible ran away with them, and even 
the stern Prince Rupert could not check 
it. On the fatal field of Naseby their 
cause is lost for ever. A gentle sentiment 
of pity awakens in our breasts at their 
mournful fate. 

Prince Rupert again vanishes from our 
view. He is now on the sea, with the 
same power which he had heretofore on 
land. His naval expedition (says his bio- 
grapher,) has no parallel. We must look 
back to the days of the Scandinavian sea- 
kings for even a resemblance to Rupert's 
present mission. His was a spirit cast 
in the old northern heroic mould, reso- 
lute, indomitable, adventurous and daunt- 

After numerous wanderings, he returns 
to his ever loved England. Charles is 
gone. An usurper has waded through 
his blood to sovereign power. Where is 
now that gallant band who once followed 
him to victory or death. We can sympa- 
thize with the aged Cavalier in the gloomy 
retrospect. The once "fiery Prince Ru- 
pert" now spends his time in sedate stu- 
dies. He maintains neutrality among the 
divisions which then existed ; and at the 
age of sixty-nine, he died beloved and 
respected by men of the most differing 





Once on a time, a noisy Frog 

Heard a Hen cackling near his tog ; 

" Begone !" said he ; " your clamor rude 

Disturbs our quiet neighborhood, 

What's all this shocking fuss about, I beg?" — 

" Nothing, dear sir, but that I've laid an egg." 

A single egg ! and therefore such a rout !" 

Yes, neighbor Frog, a single egg, I say. 
Are you so troubled when I'm not put out 
To hear your croaking all the night and day ? 
I boast that I have done some little good though 

small ; 
Hold you your tongue ! You do no good at all." 


We by no moans purpose instituting 
an invidious comparison between the 
' Monthlies ' and ' Weeklies,' nor indeed 
do we intend any reflection upon the im- 
portant services of either, when we intro- 
duce the Hen and the Frog as proxies in 
our text ; though we reserve the privilege 
of declaring what the facts do evidently 
justify, that neither are altogether as effi- 
cient in their proper spheres as they 
might be. The necessity of contending 
for the liberty of the Press as a palladium 
of our great and good advancement, has 
ceased to exist, and that which was a sen- 
timent to be battled for against the ty- 
ranny of Kings, has now become a princi- 
ple of action to be violated only when the 
spirit which gave it origin shall have de- 
generated into a careless indifference of 
our moral and political fate. As it is a 
valued instrument, so should our vigilance 
he ever active in keeping it bright; and 
this can be accomplished by extending 

our patronage only to those which best 
give utterance to our own thoughts on 
passing events; and, may we not say, 
first to those which, besides being expo- 
nents of congenial sentiments and exem- 
plars of pure diction, shall add something 
to the solid literature of the day. 

Newspapers are, indeed, indispensable. 
They are the messengers as well as the 
invited guest, without whose going and 
coming the feast of social converse would 
not be served. They are the carrier-doves 
without whose assistance many a loving 
politician would never have paid his suc- 
cessful addresses to his she advowson — the 
dear people. In truth, they are the se- 
mina of our political and religious Pinus 
which the winds of public opinion and 
patronage scatter to the four corners. — 
How much to be regretted it is that some 
of these are falling upon, and find nour- 
ishment in richer soil, than the great truth- 
cultural interest of the community canal- 
low, covering it with a growth inferior to 
that even from which it came. More en- 
couraging, however, it is to know there 
are many others, to continue the simile, 
which improve wherever they fall. If 
on poor soil, on the comparatively illiter- 
ate and confiding populace, they leave im- 
pressions of lasting good, and if on 
richer, on minds accustomed to nobler- 
thoughts, they but perform their office- 
cover them for a time with pleasing scripts 
of " town talk," and then decay. "False 
as a bulletin," however, is as true in re- 
gard to papers of this country, and is as 
often used in common parlance to express 
the little reliance to be placed upon any 



particular testimony, as it was in Europe 
immediately after the campaigns of Na- 
poleon. Why should not the same pro- 
gressive spirit which has located a Press 
in almost every village of the country, 
and so much improved the execution, 
both typographical and literary, of these 
sheets also regard their moral tone ? — 
" You only saw it in a newspaper," is 
provoking to him who would convince, 
and who can read the abusive and ungen- 
tlemanly language of some editors to each 
other, with composure ? Is not the time 
to come when such language will not be 
tolerated, and however excellent other- 
wise, if they cannot conduct their argu- 
ments which are studied and written out 
in a quiet sanctum, free from the excite- 
ment of oral debate, will not a communi- 
ty, so many of whom, even now, frown 
when they read, extend that frown so far 
as to seriously affect the mail book ? So 
let it be. 

But the literary caterer has another 
dish on his Bill of Fare. "See here, 
waiter, what's this you call a le maga- 
sin ?" " Well, master, I'm not surprised 
at your asking, for sometimes they do 
mistake it for Frog, when served up in 
this way, but this is chicken, rather of 
the pullet kind, but would have been a 
Hen, you know, if it had grown a little 
longer." We partook, and it was really 
sweeter than its "ginger bread" appear- 
ance advised. We tasted over again the 
doux morceux of College life, and an oc- 
casional Revolutionary ingredient did any 
thing but revolt against the fibres of our 

But, to drop the figure, these Maga- 
zines are the best conductors of whole- 
some thoughts we have. Unpolluted, as 
all properly conducted ones are, by any 
political or sectarian influences they are 
gotten up specially for the literary man, 
and should be made, by a liberal patron- 
age, to exert an equal influence over the 
forming of taste, that newspapers claim 

of forming opinions of public men, &c. — 
Surely their smiles should be tolerated 
once a month when the daily giggling of 
others is listened to complaisantly. 


From the State Gazette of N. Carolina. 
Thursday, Oct. 1st, 1789. 

From the New York Packet. 

Messrs. Printers : — The other day as 
I sat in the gallery of the Federal Hall, 
attending to the proceedings of the Hon. 
House of Representatives, I heard a pe- 
tition from Baron De Glaubeck, praying 
that some compensation may be made 
him for his services during the late war. 
This gentleman, I am well informed, for 
a considerable time had no idea of mak* 
ing any charge for his services : but a 
train of inevitable misfortunes have ob- 
liged him to petition the present Congress, 
for such pay, &c, as he is entitled to by 

Honorable mention is made of this gal- 
lant soldier, in Ramsay's History of South 
Carolina ; but the author, not being per- 
fectly acquainted with the transactions of 
the Baron, has omitted the relation of 
several of his exploits, which should 
make his name dear to every American 

As an American I feel myself bound to 
communicate to the public, at this junc- 
ture, a few facts relating to the Baron 
while in the Southern army, which (set- 
ting aside his previous services to the ' 
northward) entitle him to a generous com- 

After the action in which Gen. Gates 
was defeated, the Baron, with a handful 
of men belonging to Armaud's corps, re- 
treated with General Smallwood, which 
enabled some of our men to make a good 
retreat. Col. Washington, aided by this 
foreign veteran, with but a few troops un- 
der his command, attacked a large body 
of the enemy, dislodged seven or eight 
hundred men, and made some prison- 

The Baron, in company with Colonel 
Washington, charged the King's Guards 
at Guilford Court House, where the bat- 
tle was fought between Major-General 
Green and Cornwallis, and destroyed the 
whole corps. 

After the battle of Guilford, Gen. 



Green recommended the Baron to the Go- 
vernor of North Carolina, and advised 
him to put the cavalry of that State un- 
der his command. The Governor took 
the General's advice, and accordingly 
placed the Baron at the head of the caval- 
ry ; but to his great astonishment, not a 
soul among them had a sword except 
himself; however, in order to supply this 
great deficiency, he ordered every man to 
provide himself with a substantial hicko- 
ry club ; one end of every club, he 
caused to be mounted with a heavy 
iron band; then tp show an example 
to his men, he threw down his own 
sword, armed himself with one of the 
bludgeons, and mounted his horse. After 
giving his men the necessary instruction 
in the art of wielding their wooden swords, 
he marched with his whole body, con- 
sisting of four hundred toward's Corn- 
wallis's army, in order to reconnoitre 
their lines, where he arrived the same 
day about 1 o'clock. Cornwallis was 
then retreating towards Wilmington, and 
his men being fatigued, had halted to take 
some refreshments. The Baron seized 
this favorable opportunity, and charged 
two Hessian pickets, whom he made pri- 
soners ; routed three British regiments, 
to whose heads he applied his clubs so 
effectually, that a considerable number 
were killed on the spot, and finally he 
retreated with upwards of sixty prisoners. 

North Carolina is particularly obliged 
to the Baron, for he protected the inhabi- 
tants of several parts of that State from 
the ravages of Tarleton and his legion of 
plunderers. About 400 Tories arid Bri- 
tons had possession, while the British 
army was retreating, of the town of Hali- 
fax, which they intended to plunder. — 
The Baron being informed of this scheme, 
marched immediately with his club-men 
to its relief; on his approach the greater 
part of these miscreants made their es- 
cape ; some had crept up the chimneys, 
and were smoked out by his men, who 
treated them as they would foxes that 
had been smoked out of their holes. 

The facts which I have mentioned are 
but a few that occur at this time to my 
memory. They are related merely as a 
specimen of his enterprising genius. His 
exploits were so numerous and singular, 
that I believe he was generally known, 
both in the Northern and Southern army. 

The Baron being a gentleman of rank 
and fortune in his own country, was bred 

to no business, except the art of war. He 
lifted his sword in defence of American 
freedom, without any pecuniary motives ; 
he ever supported himself during the 
whole war out of his own pocket. A con- 
siderable amount of his property was cap- 
tured by the British in different actions, 
and a number of horses were shot under 
him, and three times wounded. I hope 
his request will surely be granted ; and I 
conceive that Congress should not stop 
here — they are bound by the ties of hon- 
or and gratitude to reward him according 
to his merit. 

An old American Officer. 

In the same Gazette of March 13th, 
1790, we find the following extract from 
a letter dated Charleston, Jan. 27 : 

" I am sorry to inform you that poor 
Baron Glaubeck is no more. He, some 
time since, left this place for Georgia by 
land, and arrived safe at Savannah. He 
soon after amused himself by showing 
feats of horsemanship to the inhabitants 
of the place ; but unfortunately in leap- 
ing a ditch in a sham attack, upon the lit- 
tle fort below the town, his horse stum- 
bled and threw him with violence against 
the wall ; his right thigh and ihree ribs 
were broken ; he however supported his 
unhappy situation with great fortitude of 
mind, and expired in about threo hours 
after the accident." 

At present, a candidate for a diploma 
in our University is required to attend 
abont 2232 instructions, viz. : 16 a week 
for 38 weeks, during the first three years 
of his course, and 12 a week for 34 weeks 
during the last year. The following ta- 
bles show the number of instructions 
given in each of the departments of the 
University : 

494 are in Mathematics, 
399 " " Greek, 
391 " " Latin, 
152 " " History, 
148 " " French, 
148 by Sermons, 
114 are in Bible, 

68 " " Chemistry, 

60 " " Constitutional Law, 

57 " " Rhetoric, 

57 " " Logic, 






" Political Economy, 
" Moral Philosophy, 
" Geology, Mineralogy, &c. 
" Mental Philosophy, 

If we arrange these lessons according 
to their analogies, putting into a class 
those that afford mental and moral disci- 
pline of the same kind, the numbers will 
be as follows : 

938 in Languages, or nearly 42 per. cent. 

494 " Mathematics, or 22 " " 

262 " Bible or Sermons, or 12 " " 
174 " Logic, Ehetoric, Mental and 

Moral Philosophy, or 8 " " 
152 " History, or 7 " " 
110 " Constitutional Law and Po- 
litical Economy, or 5 " " 
102 " Chemistry, Geology and Mi- 
neralogy, or 5 " " 

North Carolina — An Average State. 
— Here are some facts worthy of being 
remembered : 

Area of the earth, 200,000,000 sq. ms. 

Land portion, 50,000,000 " " 

Area of North Carolina 50,000=,^ of 
land portion= 40 ^ of whole earth. 

Area of United States, at time of Re- 
volution 1,000,000. 

Area of United States after purchase of 
Lousiana, 2,000,000. 

Area of United States after the treaty 
of Hidalgo et als, 3,000,000. 

North Carolina has therefore been 20 
J, and is now g of the Union. 

The average population of the globe is 
17 to the square mile, and the same is 
true of North Carolina. 

In recent article of a valued Exchange 
in regard to a sect called "Turners," 
whose aim seems to be to revive and per- 
petuate the fame of Tom. Paine, and, in 
fact, to increase Infidelity generally, we 
find the following pertinent remarks : 

" There are two conspicuous miracles 
standing in the presence of the earth to- 
day. They are as inexplicable, without 
the Bible revelation, as any problems 

known to men ; they are as true miracles 
as the incarnation of God, the resurrec- 
tion of the body of Jesus, or his ascen- 
sion from Mt. Olivet into Heaven. Neith- 
er priestcraft nor superstition created or 
shaped either of the miracles of which we 
speak, as now present in the world. We 
shall show that humanity could not have 
made either of them. 

The first of these miracles is the art of 
speech. There is not now one human be- 
ing who ever uttered a word without 
hearing words spoken. There never was 
one on earth that ever spoke except from 
previously hearing speech. History has 
numerous examples which incontroverti- 
bly establish the facts of which we speak. 
The experiment of Ptolemy in order to 
discover the original language, the young 
Frenchman whose case was thoroughly 
investigated in 1824, by the Academy of 
Sciences, the history of Casper Hauser, 
in Germany, cases of loss of hearing and 
loss of speech in this city, place the facts 
we now exhibit beyond any successful 

The moment a deaf man hears, that 
moment he ceases to be dumb, because 
he can then acquire the art of speech. — 
If, then, the progenitors of the human 
race had not heard speech from some 
source that possessed the power to speak, 
the whole human family would have been 
dumb, so far as speech is concerned, at 
this hour. 

Plato and Aristotle attempted to ascer- 
tain the origin of speech, and both gave 
up the inquiry in despair. But Moses 
shows from whence man learned the art 
of speech. He does not commit the blun- 
der of making Adam talk before he heard 
speech, but says Adam heard the voice or 
speech in the garden. 

All history on this point, all daily ob- 
servation conclusively proves the fact 
that man acquired the art of speech from 
a power superior to himself. There is not 
one truth in the whole history of man- 
kind that gainsays this invulnerable fact. 
God taught Adam to speak by speaking 
to him, and through Adam the human 
family have retained the power thus ac- | 
quired directly from the Creator." 

The second miracle is "the separate 
condition, and preservation as such, of 
the Jews," but we haven't room for 



Alphabetically, &c. — See here, strang- 
er, you haven't considered all the advan- 
tages of breathing College air, have you ? 
Come, let us tell you a thing or two, 
and you may as well prepare yourself to 
think more kindly of us, for we are about 

, to correct certain impressions, common 
just now to most Colleges, and, from the 
lamentable results, we are obliged to con- 
elude that the University has not been 

And is it not provoking that there are still 
a few old fogies in the country who con- 
tinue to obstruct the progress of the age. 
They have even gone so far as to whisper 
in the ears of the uninitiated that the 
University is no place for youths ; that 
the complicated triangular, double-elec- 
tive-affinity, old-red-sandstone, ideal theo- 
ry and Judicial act of 17S9 course pursued 
here, cannot be circumvented except by 
mature minds ! Pshaw ! And, pray when 
will they be mature ? Shall the youthful 
aspirations of this fast generation be re- 
strained in the nursery of home till all 
vestiges of childhood be lost ? This is 
the period of 'first impressions,' and who 

J is not mental philosopher enough to know 
that, if these be seared by the too warm 
influences of home, all contracted views 
thereafter should be attributed to this 
fact. Then away with the new-fangled 

Send on the hoys by all means. You 

' needn't give yourselves any trouble about 

Warotccteurs. They are generally too mod- 
est to require such attention ; so that, if 
there is any Bell-ringing or Bugle-blow- 
ing going on they are ' out of it,' and are 
too sensible to suffer themselves to be led 
on as instruments by those who have 
more dignity than to engage in these 
things themselves, but not good sense 
enough to refrain from instigating. 

Besides, in common with their seniors; 
they have a servant to visit them twice 
every day. It's true, they are slightly 
disturbed about day every morning with 

a slaming of doors and a rattling among 
chairs, tables, &c, but then, they get for 
this inconvenience a full half gallon of 
water, and only two to wash! If they 
should have company, however, the well 
has been fixed upon the latest improved 
principles of hydrostatics— some say for 
their special benefit, others, however, are 
of opinion that it is intended as an addi- 
tional ornament to the Campus. 

But there's no use tiying to enumerate. 
The half cannot be told. Let us say, 
however, that if you should find it any 
trouble to learn the " little ones" their 
alphabet, you would do well to have them 
breath this atmosphere a while. Well, 
we can't say that we sec them distinctly 
floating on the breeze, nor as spectres of 
departed spirits do they haunt us at night, 
but in the atmosphere certainly they are 
as no particles so volatile as to fly across 
more than one nation, could be stirred as 
much as they are here without rising ; 
and, as for " haunts," we have seen too 
many to be frightened by them, but real- 
ly, in all our " prep" days we never was 
so bored with A. B. C, as we arc here. — 
" Order is the first law, &c. — everything 
for order, therefore ! 

College Mojientoes. — It is but natural 
that we should desire something more 
tangible than mental lore ; or, at least, 
something specially intended as a remem- 
brancer of college life, for our contempla- 
tion when we shall have left these shades- 
And thus we account for the custom 
which is becoming so common, of carry- 
ing around our Albums and Autograph 

Now, we plead guilty to as many senti- 
mental exposes as any one, when the feel- 
ings which a difference of sex inspires, 
comes in to excuse us : but really this 
" My dear friend, our intercourse has been 
of the most intimate and agreeable char- 
acter, &c, Hope 

you'll climb the steep of Fame 



Marry the beloved object of your heart, 
&c.," is too stale, coming as it often does, 
from mere acquaintances, and that too of 
the same sex. 

And these Autographs, — Well, they are 
some better, for we do want to know our 
friends ages and what professions they 
expect to follow. But then, how are we 
to know how much an old-maidish re- 
serve had to do with the one, or a foolish 
vanity with the other ? The truth is, 
even these are mementoes, unworthy of 
the intelligence of the parties concern- 
ed. Who is it that cannot write his 
name? We value musical perform- 
ances, generally, in proportion to the 
skill of the performer, and why should- 
n't we prefer some intellectual effort as a 
souvenir of true friendship, rather than 
these hand-organ ways of doing things ? 
Then you'll have your friend to write an 
article for the ' Magazine ;' you'll preserve 
and have bound the volume in which it 
appears, and thereby add to your Library 
a book which will be of more interest to 
you ten years hence than you can now 
imagine. And, in this connection, we 
have thought an extract from De Bow's 
Review for March vould not prove alto- 
gether uninteresting : 

" An old friend in Georgia, Stephen F. 
Miller, referring to a very large collection 
of pamphlets he has been making from 
early life, advises all students to adopt the 
same plan of completing their libraries. 

He says : 

1 1 have alluded to my success in form- 
ing a library on this plan, not to secure 
any benefit to myself, but to influence 
others, especially young men, who often 
obtain pamphlets, and, after perusing, 
give them away, or permit them to be 
destroyed. I have lost many in this fash- 
ion. Three I particularly regret — the ad- 
dresses of Judges Berrien and Clayton be- 
fore the College Societies at Athens in 
1828, and the speeches of Mr. Wilde on 
the tariff in 1832, containing that beau- 
tiful sketch of distinguished men, 
Lowndes, Pinckney, Randolph, Calhoun, 
Clay, Webster, Forsyth, Gaston and oth- 
ers, whom he found in the House of Re- 

presentatives when he first entered Con- 
gress in 1816. The materials I have 
drawn together in the fifty volumes, are 
sufficient to construct a history of almost 
any kind. 

They are too valuable to remain useless 
in nry hands, and, to make them service- 
able to others, I have an idea of present- 
ing them after a while to some literary in- 
stitution in Georgia, or to some historical 
society. For the present I often refer to 
them for facts and reading matter which 
I can procure nowhere else of so enter- 
taining a character. When I heard of a 
discourse or other publication which 1 
could not find on sale, or otherwise ob- 
tain, I usually wrote to the author, stat- 
ing my object, and was always treated 
with civility." 

The following are some of the valuable 
keimelia connected with the University. 1 
Among them are numbered the produd 
tions of some of the first men of the prel 
ceding and present generation : 

* Hon. Archibald D. Murphy, 182'J 
Rev. Wm. Hooper, 182S 
Hon. John H. Bryan, 1830 
Rev. Wm. M. Green, 183] 

* Hon. Wm. Gaston, 183< 
Rev. Wm. Hooper, (Lecture) 183' 

Alfred Moore, Do. 188: 

Henry S. Ellenwood, Do. 1835 

* Hon. Geo. E. Badger. — 188J 

Joseph J. Hill, (Lecture,) 183: 

Walker Anderson, Do. 183 

* Rev. Wm. Hooper, (Sermon,) 183; 
Hon. James Iredell, — 183' 
Rev. Elisha Mitchell, (Lecture,) 183^ 
Hon. Thomas Ruffin, — 183J 

* Hon. Henry S. Pinckney, — 183 
Hon. Robt Strange — 1831 

* Hon. Charles Manly, (Alumni,) 18si 

Wm. H. Shepard, — 183; 

* Hugh McQueen, (Alumni,) 183i 

* Bedford Brown, — 1831 
*Danl. Barringer, (Alumni,) 184 

* James C. Bruce, Do. 184' 

* Dr. John Hill, 184 

* James B. Shepard, 184 

* Rev. Thos F. Davis, 184 

* Batt. Moore, Esq., 184 



* Hon. John Y. Mason, (Alumni,) 1847 

Wm. Eaton, Jr., 1848 

■ Hon. Wm. A. Graham, 1849 

* Hon. Jas. C. Dobbin, 1850 

* W. W. Avery, 1851 
Thos. S. Ashe, 1852 

"Hon. A. 0. P. Nicholdson, 1853 

1 James H. Dickson, (Alumni,) 1853 
"Gov. A. V. Brown, — 1854 

2 Those starred can be procured from the 
irchives of the two societies. 

The following was clipped from a paper 
mblished in one of the Southern States 
tnd sent to one of the " Corps" by his 
;ister after receiving his Daguerreotype 
br her birth-day present. Whether it 
pas written for his particular case he has 
lot been able to learn ; but, certainly, for 
>n analogous one, and, the application has 
leen so successful, he is led to hope other 
diversions, equally as happy, may be 
nade. It is surely as sweet as any scrap 
re have read lately — 



Sweet, priceless gut ! 
'ond image of my gentle brother dear, 
iiid tender token ot his cherished love, 
low fondly do the magic tendrils of 
.sister's heart, twine 'round the precious gift, 
.nd press the treasure to her throbbing breast ! 
low sweetly glow the soft bewitching thoughts 
'hat nestle proudly in her bosom ond ! 
ind 0, wiiat deep unchanging love wells up 
a her devoted heart It is a face, 
In which my eyes could ever dwell with new 
.nd rapt delight, for while I look within 
he quenchless lustre of those love-lit eyes, 
: seems as if a gleam of Heaven is 
entered in my pensive gaze : ior 0, from 
Whence could spring such radient smiles, that 

edeck thy youthful brow, if 'twere not from 

* heart as stainless pure as infants thoughts? 
ear brother! chide, 0! chide me not, i? while 
gaze enraptured on this pictured face, 

tear should tremble in my eye, or steal 
torn mem'ry F 8 hidden depths. It is a tear 

Ot love '.—deep tveaswed love! which wake3 an 
Echo from the past, and brings up visions 
Far too bight to last,— Swe^t visions of our 
Earlier days, when hand in hand we gather'd 
Flowers bright, or chased the laml kin in its 
Rapid flight ; and I would stop amid our 
Merry sports, and look into thy laughing face, 
All flushed with boyish pride, and wonder if 
A saddening shadow ere could rest upon 
Thy cloudless brow, or quell the spaikling fire 
That burned deep, deep within the liquid wells 
Of beauty's matchless eyes. Those days havo 

And while I view each vanished scene, in 
Retrospection's beaming ;-ky, I turn me 
To this treasured gilt, to seek that smilo 
I loved so well.— 'Tis gone---but in its place 
Sits oue more calmly pensive, sweetly soft. 
'Tis the bright sweet s>mile ot early manhood, 
Which tells that childhood's ringing laugh has 

Forever from thy joyous heart, leaving 
Its rosy semblance on those parted lips. 
Alas, the sunny hours we now enjoy 
Will soon be o'er, when farewell's faint, low, 
Saddening sound hangs on each white lip qui- 
And breathes an echo in each bursting heart, 
When duty bids the softer feelings of 
My nature yield to fate, and tears me from, 
The arms ot him I love so well, in whose: 
Bright presence clouds dispel, and sunshine 
" Blushes rosy red." Still, 1 must submit. 
But can I ever cease to think of thee, 
Bright idol of our cherished sunny home ? 
First let the quivering strings that vibrato 
Through my heart asunder break, and hush 

Music of their joyous hopes. Yet, Brother 
It is a tearful truth that we must part. 
The gentle zephyrs of my loved old State 
Wilt play upon thy placid brow, and lull 
Thee sweetly to repose. But ne'er shall I 
Again receive their cooling breath, that oft 
Has wooed me in the starry night to look 
Upon God's wondrous works, and to adore 
The " Great I am." The sunny skies of 
Unknown, distant lands, will wave in beauty 
O'er my youthful form, and as 1 upward 
Turn mine eyes, sweet thoughts of thee will 

In each glittering ray that brightly cleaves the 
Beaming sky of heaven. Then, genvle brother, 
When twilight throws her dewy mantle o'er 
The bosom of Our " mother Earth,"-- -flings 


Her purple shadows through the leaiy grove- 
Clothes nature in her sweetest robes— and calls 
The whispering zephyrs from their ocean-home, 
To nurse the sun-parched plants,-— wilt thou 
Meet me 'neath soft Luna's beams— lift up thy 
Grateful heart in prayer, and watch 
The starry host of heaven ? Then when the 
Playful zephyrs softly stoop to kiss the 
Dewy petals of each blooming rose— or 
Sighs a dying requiem o'er the drooping, 
Faded beauties of some cherished bud.— • 
My plaintive sighs I'll mingle with their soft 
Enchanting moans, and fondly think of thee ! 
Sweet brother, thou canst never know how 

I prize this pictured image of thy 
Precious self-— how clcsely it is woven 
Round the very textures of my heart strings — 
Or with what rapt delight my bosom ttirills, 
As tenderly 1 press It to my lips, 
And call it mine. Tho' youth may pass away, 
And age steal on in balmy silence, thy 
Lovely image still will bloom as brightly 
On the mystic altar of my heart, and 
Memory, too, will fondly cling around 
The cherished trust, — till this sad heart has 

To beat— these lips their last faint whisper 

And these fond eyes, that once were wont to 

Thee with their sunniest envies, are sealed in 


Yes, fond brother, well I thank thee 
For this gift so bright and fair, 

Valued treasure, in my bosom, 
0, how fondly cherished there. 

How I love to gaze upon it, 
Sweet enchanting placid face ! 

Is it he that smiles upon me 1 
Smiles with such ethereal grace. 

No, 'tis but his lovely image, 
So exact, and winning too ; 

Is it prHe that fills my bosom, 
Pride for such a brother true? 

Yes, I feel the deep emotion, 

Heave within my swelling breast, 

As with rapture fond I view it, 
View the gifted being blest. 

While I press with fond affection, 
To my lips this gift benign, 

O'er my senses steals this sentence- 
Mine— -the magic picture's mine. 

Rise my soul in adoration, 
Rise to God, who framed for thee, 

In thy youth and sunny childhood, 
Such a brother thine to be. 

" John, why didn't you say the ba 
was pretty ? You are undoubtedly 
strangest youth I ever saw. Don't y 
know that every crow thinks its you 
the blackest, and in none other way cot: 
you so easily secure the entire good v, 
of her whose friendship you crave, th| 
by complimenting the " dear delight 
And if you had " violence to conscieri 
done " slightly, such peccadilloes are b 
mole-hills compared with the iEtnas 
interest which a man has at stake son 
times. But apart from all self-intere 
John, I do more than agree with Stern 
sentiment, "when a few words wo 
wrest misery from its thraldom I hate 
man who could be a churl of them," 
I insist that such an one is undeserv 
the name of a gallant man though 
' misery ' should be no more than the i 
gratified vanity of a mother. Besides 
\ your scruples are for nought when i 
I recollected that all oabies are pretty' 
j rose buds are equally pleasing to the e 
Now, when you visit again, lay as 
1 such strict constructions of the mo 
i code, and praise the babies I conjure yo 

John was very much obliged to 
J friend for his advice. Certainly he vi 
j not aware of this cordon so easily thvJ 
i ed. He shall beg leave, however, still- 
believe that " fools admire but men 
sense only approve ; and, if the adm .;' 
tion of the foolish is preferable to the 
lent approval of the wise, then moth 
must have less discrimination than ou 
to be bequeathed their children. 

This isn't so bad, Monsieur Soph. : 

The pliant vine whose tendrils youDg 
Tenaciously have ever clung 



To sturdy oak, with filial love, 

Nor winds nor storms can ever move. 

Just so the noble hearted youth, 
Whose mother's voice— a treasured truth- 
He loves to obey— nor sin nor shame 
*|a this base world will taint his name. 

^Epitaph on Hume. — The Tomb of the 
^terialist is a plain circular marble 
$usoleum inscribed simply with these 
ords : . 


.'One of the students of Edinburg wrote 
pon it the following impromptu : 

rfeneath this circular idea vulgarly called 

agressions and ideas rest which constituted 


Religious Exercises. — There is surely 

j village in all North Carolina so well 

.-ovided with religious privileges as 

hapel Hill. With a population of 800, 

ie boasts of four commodious churches, 

•presenting as many different denomina- 

ras. The kindest feelings exist between 

icsc, and, on all special occasions in 

ther church, the services of others are 

;spended for that occasion and they at- 

nd en masse. This state of things did 

ituaUy surprise us on our first coming, 

, r we had been raised in a village about 

ie same size, and it seemed to us almost 

matter of positive duty that each church- 

an should be always talking and acting, 

I id for his own church and none other. 

I bey never made any arrangements to 

i -event the exercises of their respective 

lurches from clashing; and, if any 

ifcmber visited any other than his own 

).wasa subject for gossip for the week 

I llowing. We had begun to look upon 

lurches as antagonistic necessarily. We 

ad imbibed the idea that a member of 

ly other church was not as much enti- 

ed to our friendship, or even sympathy, 

5 we saw in visiting, in marrying, &c, 

lurch claimed a prerogative. 

But it is a downright slander upon any 
christian church to charge her with such 
illiberal policy, however, much some of 
her village branches may practice it. It 
is not an uncommon thing, however, for 
human passions to obtain the ascendency 
even in church organization, and a zeal 
for a particular sect often leads to bolder 
efforts than a love to God in the same 
man has ever induced. And it is our doc- 
trine, whether corroborated by any oth- 
er's personal experience we know not, 
only we know that, so far as our age ex- 
tends it is ours, that when the spring bud 
of the youthful mind is covered over and 
pressed down by the heavy rock of any 
exclusive doctrine, it will have its hot- 
house appearance and more than a three- 
score-and-ten exposure to a healthier ele- 
ment will be required to restore it to its 
natural greenness. 

We wished merely to congratulate the 
patrons of this Institution upon this hap- 
py state of things, suggested, just at this 
time, by the completion of the Baptist 
church on Main street. It is the finest, 
most commodious and eligibly situated 
church in town, and forms an important 
link in the chain of religious facilities. — 
Besides, we are to have still more interest 
manifested in the exercises of the Chapel 
hereafter. A Seraphine is to be deposit- 
ed there and the talent for vocal and in- 
strumental music is to be cultivated to a 
greater extent. Let us express the hope, 
however, for the benefit of our successors 
that some warming machine may be fixed 
up before another winter comes on. 

" I admire the feelings of him," says 
Miss Sedgewick in her Preface to Clar- 
ence, " who said he had rather have an 
apple from the garden of his father's house 
than all the fruits of France." We say 
so too, and, " unless that heart be steel," 
we defy it's being indifferent to the 
charms of a native village after a, protract- 
ed absence. 



The following was the result of an in- 
spiration of a female acquaintance so cir- 
cumstanced, and because of a similarity 
in our condition (a village to love,) or from 
some other cause it is to us peculiarly 
sweet : 


With heartfelt love for thee, dear spot, 
1 sing thy charms from spire to cot. 
Old Art, of late has used his skill 
In Nature's realm, to work some ill ; 
But she defies him, lifts her voice, 
And all from blade to oak rejoice. 
Thy little churchyard, 'nealh whose earth 
Repose thy sons of noblest birth ; 
There, too, the lowly find a place, 
When done their work and run their race, 
He who has any heart must feel 
Its beauties, lest that heart be steel ; 
For there bloom flowers of various hue, 
There rise the tall, dark fir and yew- 
Fit emblems of mortality. 
There sings the bird, there hums the bee, 
There nature, till her charms hath shed, 
To bless the dwelling of the dead 
Thy walks— one by yon gurgling stream, 
Where grow the violets which seem 
Silently to plead, " Crush us not, 
Puss on and let us be forgot." 
Another takes us to the woods, 
Where, free from care of this world's goods, 
We see dear nature as she is, 
All grandeur , all harmony His. 
She is, who all her grace bestows, 
The source from which her beauty flows, 
Thy grove, where lies the village green, 
There, troops of many spirits are seen, 
Dancing to music of their own, 
On carpets thick with dasies strewn. 
These, these are only half the sum 
Of the charms which to my memory come. 
Aye, he who has a soul must feel, 
Thy beauties, lest that soul be steel. 

We are inclined to think Tenella's call 
upon the Poets of North Carolina is hav- 
ing some effect — only listen : 


The hills of Carolina, 

How proudly they rise, 
In their beauty and grandeur 

To blend with the sk ies. 

The vales of Carolina, 
How bright is the scene ; 

Of their rich golden harvests 
And forest of green. 

The streams of Carolina, 
How gentle their motion ; 

As 'hey hurry away, 
To their home in the ocean. 

The schools of Carolina, 
How honored they stand ; 

And the teachers who guide them, 
The pride of the land. 

The girls of Carolina, 
Like the land of their birth, 

Are twin sisters of beauty, 
The Haidres of earth, 

The homes of Carolina, 

Are happy and blest ; 
And the spirits that rule them 

Are kindest and best. 

The graves of Carolina, 
How sacred the shade , 

Where, sleeping in silence, 
Her fathers are laid. 

Oh, bright are the flowers in my iwn nati 1 

Oh, dear are the friends that I loved in my chili 

Carolina, I love thee. 
Wherever I roam, 
What e'er sky is above me, 
Carolina's my home. 

" SALBU8." 

A Bit of Drama. — On a cold day i 
December, many years ago, there arrive 
at the wharf in Wilmington, N. C, tvs 
jolly fellows, Dick P. and Jo L.— wfc 
lived some ten or twelve miles up the > 
E. river, — having brought to town, in 
small boat, some articles of produce i 
exchange for family groceries. It w. J 
about two o'clock, P. M., when the 
reached the wharf; so that, as they desi 
ed, two or three hours' leisure was affon 
ed them, as they did not intend depar 
ing till night They soon supplied then 1 
selves with the articles needed, — amoc 
which was a two-gallon jug of " old rye; 



which, as Jo suggested, would be indis- 
pensable on their return. 

After taking in somewhat of the last ar- 
icle aforesaid, they filled a " tickler " for 
mmediate use and strolled around town 
o see the "elephant," ever and anon 
brmingmore intimate connections with 
he contents of the bottle. What objects 
fiore particularly attracted their notice I 
leed not relate. They continued survey - 
ng the curiosities, however, and remark- 
ng on the beauties of the town, till near- 
jr dark, when Dick proposed to fix up and 
eturn home. Both of them were by this 
ime what modern refinement calls pretty 

Jo seconded the homeward motion and 
Iter arranging their affairs, &c, they 
eated themselves in their boat and pad- 
led for home. Now it was dark, cloudy 
nd cold, and in order to withstand the 
itter, they poured down freely of the 

Thus they continued their course, in 
|gh spirits, till Chanticleer informed 
aem that day was approaching. Then it 
fas they discovered some anxiety as to 
tieir whereabouts. Dick knew the old 
ock by his crowing to be 'Squire B.'s — 
ne of his neighbors, — but Jo, upon closer 
bservation, remarked that it did seem 
> be the chicken aforesaid, but if it was 
e'd be darned if 'Squire B. had'nt been 
oing a good deal of building since yester- 
ay morning. They had forgotten to 
wse the boat from the wharf. 

i Ladies, how are you pleased with your 
Ickets this time ? A certain young man 
rtwo, perhaps more who like things 
done up ' at home, wishes to know if 
pur tastes are not somewhat similar, and 
hether you would not enjoy the Party 
; }ually as much if these same tickets 
•ere simply a neatly printed note such as 
,3uld be executed near home. If so, so 
Kpress yourselves to the lower classes 
hen you come, and lets have a change 

We seldom call attention to any par- 
ticular article, as we consider them all 
worth reading, and the tastes of our read- 
ers will best appreciate what each may 
select for itself, but we wish simply to 
say our Leader is over the signature C. 
and nothing inferior has ever come from 
that source. 

The address before the two Literary So- 
cieties will be delivered on Wednesday the 
the ,6th June by Mr. Geo. Davis, of Wil- 

The sermon to the graduating class will 

be preached on Monday night preceding 
by the Rev. B. M, Palmer, Columbia S. 
C. Bishop Atkinson is expected to de- 
liver an address before the Historical So- 
ciety, and Mr. William J. Bingham one 
before the Alumni Association. 

From the known ability of these gentle- 
men, we are bound to expect a rich treat, 
and all who will give us the pleasure of their 
company during the first week in June 
next, shall have an intellectual feast as 
well as many other good things. 

We take great pleasure in announcing 
to the readers of this periodical that 
Messrs. C. Dowd, J. B. Killebrew, A. H. 
Merritt, J. A. McQueen, C. Sessions and J. 
E. Sumner, have been selected by their class 
as Conductors of the Magazine for twelve 
months succeeding the expiration of our 
term. No more is expected ofusatthis 
time than to make this announcement, 
though we cannot refrain from emphati- 
cally declaring that these are the men 
who will raise still higher the head of our 
favorite, and make it speak where it was 
not before heard. 

Some of our exchanges continue to be 
sent to Raleigh, and sometimes we get 
them a month after they should have ar- 
rived. Please remember that Chapel Hill 
is our locus habitandi. The following. 

I!.) 2 


besides our regular newspaper friends, 
fiaye been received : William's Quarterly, 
Marietta Col. Mag., Yale Lit., Charleston 
Mag., Georgia Univ. Mag., Southern Re- 
pository, edited by the Faculty of Emo- 
ry and Henry — thank you, gentlemen, 
for your compliment. The Little Folks 
at Home is a little Mag. for the little chil- 
dren and is sweet a little to — us, publish- 

ed by Graves and Marks, Nashville Term. 
The Monthly Jubilee, published by an 
association of the Daughters and Sons of 
Toil, Philadelphia, Scraps of Young 
America, Jackson, Miss. Murfresboro' 
Gazette, Goldsboro' American. Erskine 
Collegiate Recorder, Stylus, Native Ame- 
rican, American Organ and Carolina Cul 



Vol. IV. 

JUNE, 1855. 

No. 5. 



'Twas on a chill, damp, dreary even- 
ing of last December, in the midst of 
my vacation rambles, that my horse 
halted at the gate of a large, antique, 
yet comfortable-looking farm-house, sit- 
uated on a slight eminence overlooking 
a large extent of the smooth and fertile 
valley of the Catawba. The bright 
crackling fires that shone from the 
kitchens and out-buildings, the plump 
and contented faces of the little negroes 
who were perched in the doors, and, in 
fact, the air of cheerfulness and content 
that pervaded the whole establishment 
presented a striking contrast to the 
deep gloom that overshadowed the 

My horse was soon given over to a 
servant and I conducted to the house. 
After disposing of my wet gloves, blank- 
et and over-shoes, I was ushered into a 
spacious hall or parlour, fashioned af- 
ter the olden time ; with its oaken floor, 
large fire-place, high mantle and with a 
look of neatness and comfort rarely to 
be found. The effect of the warm, 
cheerful fire was wonderful: The de- 
pression, which the oppressive dreari- 
ness of the evening had cast over my 
Vol. IV.— No. 13. 

spirits, was soon shaken off and I par- 
took of the general cheerfulness about 
me. The household consisted of a ven- 
erable-looking old man, the patriarch 
of the family, who had evidently lived 
with three generations of men and was 
now witnessing the decline of the third 1 
— a son now in the meridian of life and 
the father of the present family — his 
spouse and some half dozen hale, hand- 
some and intelligent children. The 
grand-sire, seated in his large armed, 
chair in the corner, was the very imper- 
sonation of true dignity and mature 
wisdom — a perfect model of his kind. — 
In him were visible none of the ills of 
mortality ; but, with a frame free from 
disease and with a mind unimpaired, he 
awaited calmly the hour when he must 
submit to the requisitions of nature and* 
be ' gathered unto his fathers.' 

A nice smoking supper was now 
spread upon the board. But, just be- 
fore we sat down to it, a decanter of 
'old Peach' — a spirit which had haunt- 
ed the family cellar for at least thirty 
years, was placed upon the old-fashion- 
ed sideboard, together with honey- and 
the other appurtenances. To this my- 



self and Mr. C , jr., now paid our 

respects, and "with no great degree of 
reluctance, I assure you, (as he will well 
remember, should his. eye ever chance to 
meet this page.) The old gentleman 
was also served with a toddy of the 
same, fixed up to his liking by his little 
grand-daughter, a bright-eyed girl of 
fourteen ; when we all sat down to our 
inviting supper. Grand-papa took his 
seat at the head of the table and im- 
plored a blessing from Heaven. And 
whilst we were partaking of the good 
things of the land, which you may sup- 
pose my cold cheerless ride had prepar- 
ed me fully to appreciate, the conversa- 
tion turned to the stirring times of the 
Revolution. Our modern Nestor spoke 
of the great change which little more 
than half a century had wrought upon 
the aspect of affairs, of the trials and 
privations which our heroic ancestors 
had to endure ; and said that, although 
he had performed his part in those 
troublous times, still he had cause to 
be thankful that his maker had spared 
him to enjoy such an ample recompense 
for all his labors,to behold the tree, plan- 
ted in deepest sorrow and distrust, now 
bearing such glorious fruit — fruit unsur- 
passed by any in the garden of the Hes- 

He spoke more particularly of the 
war in the South, of the operations and 
designs of Lord Cornwallis and of the 
many difficulties and distresses which 
the Whigs experienced from the ener- 
getic movements of the rude and fiery 
Tarlton, but more especially from the 
treachery and insulting cruelty of their 
neighbors, the Tories. He said that he 
was present at the battle of the Cow- 
pens, though then only a youth of six- 

teen, that he served with the body of 
cavalry under Lieut. Col. Washington, 
and witnessed and shared in the trans- 
actions of that evenful day. He spoke 
in the very highest terms of the con- 
duct of the brave old Morgan, and of 
the band of patriots under his command. 
He further added that he was an eye- 
witness of a personal conflict, which oc- 
curred between Cols. Washington and 
Tarlton at the close of the action. Col, 
Washington, it seems, in his eagerness 
to engage Tarlton, the commander of the 
enemy, had pushed too far forward in 
advance of his squadron, when Tarlton 
and two of his aids turned upon him. 
One of the latter was in the act of strik- 
ing him with his sabre, when one of 
Washington's young officers dashed 
forward upon the enemy and cut him 
down. And just here, he observed that 
there was something, romantic or rath- 
er tragical in the history and subsequent 
fate of this young man ; moreover that 
a peculiar relation had existed between 
him and himself; and he promised, af- 
ter supper, to give me a relation of it. 
He then proceeded to say that just as 
Washington was about to throw him- 
self upon his antagonist, a blow was 
aimed at him by a dragoon on Tarlton's 
left, which must certainly have proved 
fatal, had not his little bugler, who was 
too small to handle a sword, drawn a 
pistol at this critical moment and dis- 
patched the new assailant. Tarleton 
now made a violent plunge at Wash- 
ington ; but the latter parried his thrust 
and they closed into close combat. — i 
Thus thev fought for a few minutes 
with the most deadly fury, when Tarle- 
ton received a wound in the hand, and[ 
now perceiving his retreating comrades 



at a distance, wheeled, and as he did so 
fired a pistol which wounded Washing- 
ton in the knee. 

He next spoke of the race between 
Gen. Morgan and Lord Cornwallis for the 
Catawba, and of the extreme difficulty 
with which the former escaped with 
Lis prisoners. The Earl moved with all 
possible dispatch up between the wa- 
ters of Broad river and the Catawba, 
and used every endeavor to reach the 
latter in time to intercept Mo gan. — 
However, the intrepid champion of 
Freedom managed to reach the Island 
Ford and to land his little army safely 
on the opposite shore, about two hours 
before Brigadier General O'Hara, who 
led the British van, appeared in sight. 
As it was now. sunset, the British Com- 
mander, sure of his prey, seated himself 
complacently ou the bank of the stream, 
and deferred crossing until the follow- 
ing morning. But when the morning 
eame, to his surprise and chagrin, he 
found the river so swollen by rains that 
had fallen during the night, that it was 
impossible for him to effect a passage 
on that day. 

Thus he was detained for forty-eight 
-hours, by which time Morgan was en- 
abled to send on his prisoners and in- 
cumbrances to a place of security, and 
effect a junction with General Greene. 
(Sere the aged veteran took occasion to 
sxpatiate largely on the deep concern, 
tvhich the Mighty Arbiter of the Uni- 
verse invariably manifested for the 
:ause of Liberty, in that memorable 
•truggle. Here, he contended, was an 
unmistakeable interposition of the Dei- 
■yin our behalf; affirming that, had 
! lot Cornwallis been kept back by this 
i >arrier of water, Morgan and his hand- 

ful of troops must inevitably have been 

When the waters had somewhat sub- 
sided, the leader of the Loyalists dis- 
patched part of his forces, under Lieut. 
Col. Webster, in the direction of Beat- 
tie's Ford ; and tried to create the im- 
pression that the passage would be at- 
tempted there. He, however, broke up 
his encampment about midnight and 
moved as rapidly as possible, with the 
main body, towards Cowan's Ford, a 
private crossing place about six miles 
lower down, where the passage was fin- 
ally effected after a spirited, but inef- 
fectual resistance on the part of the 

At this point in the conversation, our 
supper was ended, and we withdrew 
from the table. After having discussed 
for some time, the various topics of the 
day, and during one of those pauses in 
the conversation, which indicate that 
the subject in hand is exhausted, I re- 
minded my venerable friend of the pro- 
mise that he had made me, relative to 
the young officer, vvho had so gallantly 
saved the life of Col. Washington, in 
his affair with Col. Tarleton, at the 
Cowpens. He then called his grand- 
daughter to his knee, and asked her to 
fix him up another toddy. After seve- 
ral sips of this, and a few preliminary 
hems, he thus began — 

As my own history is connected, in 
some manner, with that of the indivi- 
dual in question, perhaps a short sketch 
of it would not be uninteresting : at 
all events, I will give you so much of it, 
as is necessary to a proper understand- 
ing of the sketch that I am about to 
make. I was born in the State of South 
Carolina, an only child of a respectable 



and, at one time, a wealthy planter, 
who resided in the South- Western por- 
tion of that State. As ray mother died 

viewing him closely, you would have 
taken him to be about twenty-four 
years of age ; although, from his grave 

in my infancy, the whole of my father's and care-worn air, a passing glance 

would have made him much older. 

As he was passing by, he walked just 
opposite me, now lamenting the irrepa- 
rable loss of my father, and regarded 
me for a few moments in silence, but 
with looks as much as to say — 

" I know thee not — and yet our spirits seem, 
Together link'd in sympathy, " 

Whether he was drawn towards me 
by the mysterious influence of real sym- 
pathy: or by a common feeling of com- 
passion for my forlorn condition — thai 
one of my years should be left, in such 
dangerous times, without a protector, 
know not ; at all events,- he soon canit 
to take a warm interest in my welfare 
and, from that time forward, acted to 
wards me the part of both friend am 

We concluded to continue with ou 
patriotic brethren, and to devote ou! 
services and lives— if need be — to th 
delivery of my native, and his adopte 
country — to driving the insolent 
vader from its shores. Shortly afte: 
wards we became connected with i. 
light corps of Col. Washington, who^ 
operations were then confined to tl 
neighborhood of Charleston. My ne 
friend soon attracted the attention 
all around him. The mysterious v< 
which shrouded his history — for, thout 
he was ever frank and gentlemanly in 1 
deportment, he eluded all efforts to fii 
out either who he was, or what he w 
— excited their curiosity, and his cc 

affections were centered upon me, and 
we lived in the greatest ease and con- 
tentment, until the rupture between the 
Mother Country ~and her Colonies, 
when my father gave up his life of se- 
cluded ease, and took an active part in 
the cause of his country. In conse- 
quence of this the invading army under 
Gen. Prevost, as it passed by my fa- 
ther's residence, on its route from Geor- 
gia to Charleston, burned down the 
dwelling house and other buildings, 
carried off all portable property of any 
value* together with the greater part of 
his slaves, and destroyed everything 
else that could possibly be of any use to 
the owner. As we were now left with- 
out a home, and with no very ready 
1 means of support, my father took me 
with him to the camp. There I shared 
with him the hardships and privations 
of war, until he fell in the assault made 
upon the British garrison, at Savannah, 
by the French under Count D'Estang, 
and the Americans under Gen. Lin- 

It was at this time a id place, that I 

met, tor the first time, young M 1, 

(as be then styled himself). In stature 
he was about six feet one inch ; rather 
spare made, yet with limbs so duly pro- 
portioned, and firmly knit, as evidently 
to give him the maximum of strength 
and activity ; with a forehead lofty and 
retiring ; an eye dark and piercing as 
the hawks, black hair, and a complex- 

ion approaching nearer the brown than summate skill and ability, in all tli 
the fair ; upon the whole, what would pertains to war, called forth their adu 
be termed a handsome youth. Upon j ration. Especially did the latter arr< 



the attention of his commander, and he 
immediately offered him promotion ; he 
urged him to accept the place next 
highest iu authority to his own. But 
my friend refused all regular command, 
contenting himself with the privilege of 
selecting,? at pleasure, a small body of 
chosen troopers, and going forth upon 
any enterprise of daring adventure, 
which might please his fancy, or which 
chance might offer. Under the leader- 
ship of Washington, we continued to 
range over the surrounding country, 
and never lost an opportunity of haras- 
sing or cutting off small detachments 
of the enemy, until the reduction of the 
capitol, when we returned to the upper 
part of the State. At the time of the 
disastrous battle of Camden, our troop 
was absent on a different expedition, 
lower down in the State, and thereby 
escaped the general rout of Gage's 
army on that occasion, but came near 
being cut off by various parties of the 
victorious Britons. We, however, elu- 
ded them, and afterwards formed a part 
of the detachment under Gen. Morgan, 
sent by Gen. Greene, who succeeded 
Gates in the command of the Southern 
army, to the Western extremity of the 
State, for the purpose of giving the 
friends of Liberty an opportunity of re- 
pairing to its standard. Our regiment 
was the most efficient part of Morgan's 
forces, in dispersing the numerous bauds 
of Tories, that were collecting in all 
parts of the country, and committing 
the most wanton outrages on the per- 
sons and property of the Whigs. It 
also acted a conspicuous part in the 
affair at the Cowpens, as you already 
know, and afterwards made good its re- 
treat, together with the main body, to 
the Northern bank of the Catawba. 

Late in the evening of the day suc- 
ceeding this 'event, a party of some ten 
or twelve finely mounted dragoons — 
myself of the number — rode up into the 
camp of Gen. Davidson, near Cowan's 
Ford. My friend — for he was the lead- 
er of the troop — had gone out upon an 
enterprise of a peculiar nature — and 
one, too, full of hazard and daring — 
which led us beyond the river and into 
the neighborhood of Co''nwallis's camp. 
After a few minutes delay, we procured 
a large fiat and some of the General's 
men to manage it, crossed the river and 
proceeded on our way. On our rout, 
we picked up a straggler from the 
quarters of the enemy, and from him 
succeeded in extorting the information, 
that Lord Cornwallis was on the point 
of breaking up his encampment, and 
intended to move, with all possible des- 
patch towares Gen. Davidson's position, 
at Cowan's Ford. We then hastened 
our return, as much as possible, in or- 
der to give Davidson this intelligence. 
When we had done so, the General re- 
quested our young leader to guard, 
with his troopers, a narrow and steep 
horse-ford, about two hundred yards 
above the main ford, where Captain 
(afterwards General,) Graham had been 
stationed ^vith his riflemen. To this 
my friend readily assented ; and w r e ac- 
cordingly took our position on the bank 
of the river. As it was now past mid- 
night, and the party was somewhat 
wearied, our captain gave us permission 
to take some repose, and agreed to take 
upon himself the duties of sentinel. — 
The horses were soon secured and a 
comfortable brush fire blazing a few 
rods from the river's bank. And short- 
ly afterwards, these hardy sons of Inde- 
pendence, reclining on the bosom of their 



common Mother, and their only cover- 
ing a portion of the celestial sphere, 
the independent god of sleep passed 
over with his dewy wand. I, however, 
chose to keep watch with my friend. — 
It was now 10 o'clock in the morning, 
and a thick dark mantle overhung the 
earth, pierced only by a few curious 
stars, that peered timidly into the 
gloomy realms of night. There was 
naught to disturb the deep stillness of 
the hour, save the sullen tnutterings of 
the angry god of the Catawba and every 
thing in the scene around seemed to 
inspire an oppressive melancholy. Our 
horses were standing side by side near 
the water's edge ; we sat for some time 

in silence, when my friend aroused him- 
self, as if from a deep reverie, and re 
marked that he had a presentiment of 
approaching evil. He again relapsed 
into a moody silence, and starting 
up the second time, said that he believ- 
ed he would gratify a desire which, he 
knew, I had long entertained, but never 
expressed, viz : to know something ot 
his past history — that he thought the 
relation of it would give him some re 
lief. And after my assuring him of the 
extreme pleasure which such a relation 
would afford me, he gave, in subslance. 
the following narrative — 

(To be Concluded in our next.) 


Reader, I would unfold the dying re- 
quest of one whose life, afforded scenes, 
(the like of which fancy cannot paint, 
nor imagination conceive, which might 
afford fancy a picture already i ighly 
colored,) and well do I remember the 
solemn and impressive tones in which 
he commenced his narrative. " There 
are more things in heaven and earth, 
than are dreamed of in our philosophy." 
The world may doubt these revelations; 
but will not the dying accents of one 
whose all is before him, and who is sick 
of these earthly scenes, and who bears 
to the grave the last seed of kindred 
mortality convince them, but my hours 
are numbered, and hear my tale. 

I am a native of Scotland. My fath ; 
er died when I was twelve years of age 
He fell in the cause of the Stuarts, wht 
at that period were endeavoring to main 
tain their tottering supremacy agains 
hostile invasion, and domestic feuds. A 
few remained true to their cause, ant 
among these brave few my father actec 
a very conspicuous part. He was hon 
ored by special marks of favor from th< 
King, and in those days of high soulec 
chivalry, it was no ordinary achieve 
ment that procured notice in the civi 
or military world, indeed we cannot ap 
ply the term civil to those turbulen 
times. For, if free from foreign inva 
sion, the martial spirit of the inhabi 



tants excited differences among them- 
selves, this gave existence to numerous 
parties, or clans, actuated by various 
interests, and misguided notions of hon- 
or, to hostilities with each other. Hence 
arose those prejudices, and murderous 
passions which devastated the fair fields 
of Scotland, and made her the cradle 
of every wo that can befal the human 
race. Her King defeated, her brave 
soldiers swept away as if by the besom 
of destruction, and her lovely and chaste 
daughters made the sport of all the vil- 
lainies that man, when transformed in- 
to a demon glories in exciting. 

Well do I remember the death bed 
scene. It was at my uncle's house 
whither he vvas carried from the battle 
field. Few and faithful were those 
hearts who stood around that bed. The 
man of God administered the dying 
unction, and for a moment all was still. 
The dying man broke the awful still- 
ness ; he looked wildly around, his eyes 
flashed with unearthly brightness, he 
seemed gifted with more than mortal 
strength. He called me to his side, 
never shall I forget that summons, those 
loks, I forgot all around me, and seem- 
ed for a moment in the presence of a 
heng not of this world. 

Triends, relations, father were forgot 
ten'n the enchantment of the scene, 
and hese words fell upon my ear. My 
son, ny dear son, listen to the dying 
comtiands of thy father, and let 
my stul depart in peace. Swear to 
me on hat holy crucifix to maintain 
the struggle in which I fell, and to re* 
store CUrles, or die in the attempt. — 
The worn, the solemn manner in which 
they werejonveyed restored me to con- 
sciousness,! raised the crucifix to my 

lips, and sealed the vow. God be prais- 
ed, said he there is yet hope for my 
King and country; Then fixing his 
eyes on my uncle, he said — my dear 
brother, will you cherish these when I 
am gone ? Choked with emotion he 
essayed to speak, and at last articulat- 
ed, I will, so help me God. Then all 
became still. The spirit passed into 
the presence of God who gave it. Then 
came the last solemnity, the black pall 
passed before me, the mournful dirge, 
the low wail awoke me to a full con- 
sciousness of my condition, I was an 
orphan. This is the first event of my 
life. Oh ! this is the only green spot 
on which I can linger. My heart was 
pure, no blight had yet descended to 
scorch, and wither it. My native hills 
were the scenes of my youthful, and 
innocent sports. There bright, and day 
dreams of fancy, danced before me. — 
There the future was gilded with hopes. 
My country, and her salvation there af- 
forded themes which even now casts a 
faint light upon the darkness of my sin 
sick soul. Is this a glimmer of heaven- 
ly glories that flits across my brain. — 
But hear me further. 

Five years passed away, and I was 
still an inmate of my uncle's house. — 
The family consisted of himself; and a 
few servants, to one of these, a coarse 
featured, and dashing young woman 
my uncle entrusted the management of 
the whole family. Her word was eve- 
ry where obeyed, and one of her scawl- 
ing looks sufficed to impress all with an 
idea of her power. She wielded con- 
siderable influence over my uncle, and 
by degrees wrought upon the dotage of 
old age until he became almost a pas- 
sive being in her hands. I never saw 



her without uneasiness, but she did not 
scarcely occupy a passing moment in 
my thoughts. The pleasures of the 
chase by day, and my mother's pres- 
ence by night rendered me happy, yea 
thrice happy. Even now I see her gen- 
tle form standing before me, and wel- 
coming me home with smiles of love. 
Oh ! the depth of a mother's love, if 
there is aught on earth pure, extatic, 
lofty beyond description, it is this. — 
Alas ! this could not. last, she, gentle 
being, was pining away, deprived of all 
those endearments which make home 
an asylum of bliss, she found no answer- 
ing passion to the "entle yearnings of 
her soul, except when I was in her pre- 
sence, and she knew that soon, very 
soon I must depart to fulfill the dying 
commands of my father. The stroke 
was too much, she sickened and died, 
and such a departure from this world, 
so peaceful, we knew it not, amid hearts 
whose prayers wafted her to regions of 
eternal peace. There are feelings in- 
spired by such scenes too deep for ut- 
terance, sorrow, and joy commingling, 
and raising us superior to this world, 
opening the portals of everlasting bliss, 
and beckoning us onward to untold 
felicity, I felt my spirit on the eve of 
joining hers, and accompanying her 
through those ethereal spheres which 
my enraptured fancy at that moment 
painted. But another destiny was al- 
lotted to me, I was the creature of alto- 
gether a different fate. And who can 
thwart its stern decrees, they are 
stamped on the eternal adamant of the 
soul, with an indelible impress, and 
earth nor hell nor angels can erase 
them. Vain attempt ! Would you loose 
the seals of the Almighty ? 

I am loath to give up these reflec- 
tions, but soon very soon I shall enjoy 
them, soon I shall revel in brighter re- 
gions than my wandering soul can now 
conceive of. Then let me give the 
world what it hath bestowed on me, and 
never did debtor remove such a load 
from his heart. 

The chase was now my only source 
of enjoyment, and often after returning 
home at night would I sit moodily. A 
thousand gloomy thoughts now present- 
ed themselves. I saw the degradation 
in which my uncle was fast sinking by 
the wiles of that woman, and the au- 
thority which she began to assume af- 
ter my mother's death. With a haugh- 
ty air of indifference she would frequent- 
ly in my presence cant of the family 
matters, as if she were sole queen and 
mistress of that which was mine by 
right, but I said nothing, although she 
was evidently trying to embarrass me, 
and thus a few months of uneasiness 
passed away. 

One day I wandered many miles ftoni 
home in the excitement of the chase, 
and night approaching, threatening to 
bring with it au overwhelming storm. 
I turned to the nearest house to p/o- 
cure a shelter for the night. I nfver 
saw the inmates of the house, but their 
cheering welcome assured me of the 
goodness of their heart, and droveaway 
all misgivings. Supper wasannoinced, 
and my kind host led me out /b par- 
take of his hospitable fare. A-t the 
,head of the table sat his only d/ughter. 
His wife was dead for some #ars. I 
was introduced as the son of h old ac- 
quaintance. I know not hAv it was, 
but me thought I saw in the /ret glance 
of that deep blue eye a kin/ ed feeling. 



The scenes of years were recalled, and 
seemed there *o rest. I spoke little. — 
There was an enchantment around me, 
and I passed out of that hall a changed 
being. I saw her no more that night, 
and in a short time my kind host re- 
quested me to take some repose after 
enduring so much fatigue ; I willingly 
consented, but not to sleep, the gentle 
goddess visited not my eyes. Ten thou- 
sand new ideas arose before me. An un- 
seen influence was around me. An angel- 
ic being, so far surpassing any thing I 
ever conceived of, radiant with heavenly 
charms. This was the turning point of 
my destiny. My happiness, my mis- 

I need not say that my visits to that 
place were often repeated, and I was 
never so happy as in the society of that 
happy little party, They were not in- 
deed natives of Scotland, persecution, 
and poverty drove them from the sunny 
isle of France, and in the solitude of 
that romantic glen they passed their 
time almost forgetful of their past suf- 
fering. Here indeed the old man and 
his daughter enjoyed that repose con- 
genial to gentle, and loving hearts. — 
Margarette was her name. I cannot de- 
scribe her, her image is engraven in my 
soul, and I would not tear it from that 
worshipping shrine for the world to 
gaze at. She was too pure for earth, 
and she still loved an earthly being — a 
wretch — even he who now is before 
you. Yes, reader, that holy being, up- 
on whose soul no stain of impurity 
could rest, loved with such love as she 
alone could feel. Need I tell you that 
it was reciprocated, I know who first 
felt the flame. But in my bosom it 
burned intensely. It burns now — we 

shall love in heaven. We appointed s, 
trysting place, and we often met. Oh 
— the dear delights of those moments. 
Then, what was all the world, and its 
changes to us. Heedless of all around, 
above, beneath, we lived for each other. 
Who hath not proved how feebly words 
essay to describe such scenes. Many 
pass away and know them not, many 
could not endure them. Years would 
be as moments, there, and one moment 
an age of bliss. Angels seemed to hov- 
er around that retreat, and to gaze en- 
raptured on this sceue of purity, for true 
love is ever pure, emanating from God 
himself, and filling the heart of his crea- 
tures. Oh, Margarette ! Thou art now 
among the saints on high ; yet canst 
thou forget those hours. Best beloved 
of my soul I seem to hear thee gently 
reproaching, and beckoning me onward. 
Soon, soon I will be there, and we shall 
part no more. A few short weeks will 
close upon me this miserable existence, 
and waft me to that region for which 
my weary spirit yearns. Blessed be 
God, now my sufferings are more than 
repaid, and my soul is weaned from this 
vale of tears. Weeks and months pass- 
ed away. Worlds and ages might have 
passed, and the existence would seem 
short. I was now frequently from home. 
Inquiries arose, and the cause was toon 
discovered. How could I escape detec- 
tion ? How could I bear the reproach- 
es of my violent, and hot headed uncle? 
The characteristic haughtiness of his 
powerful countrymen was strongly man- 
fest in him. Could he endure a con- 
nection with an humble, obscure, nay 
even foreign family ? There was mad- 
ness in the thought. He first assumed 
an air of unbelief, and I believe he was 



in earnest. He placed the most im- 
plicit confidence in me. I was indeed 
a part of Lis being. And in me he an- 
ticipated the future glory of his house- 
But rumors grew more strong, and the 
old man was aroused from his self in- 
flicted indifference. At first he expos- 
tulated, he threatened, and implored. — 
Who can check the mighty rivers of 
love ? I laughed at his entreaties, I 
scorned his threats. They fell upon my 
ear like some vain dream. He became 
more importunate every da}-, and watch- 
ed my every movement. He even yet 
doubted the reality, and thus matters 
stood for some time. I conjectured who 
was fanning the fires of discord. I 
watched that woman, and soon learned 
from a faithful friend the correctness of 
my suspicions. Every evil passion of 
my heart was excited, I did not know 
myself until that moment. I who loved 
to distraction was also capable of hating 
to an equal degree. A second time 
she disturbed my happiness, and my 
proud spirit burned within me. It was 
useless to endeavor to suppress these 
harsh feelings. I did not know what 
forgiveness was, and if I did I was in no 
frame of mind to exercise it. One night 
I went to meet my love, and found her 
waiting. She gently reproached me for 
my long delay. The moon shone full 
upon us. I thought she never looked 
so beautiful. Her whole soul seemed 
to beam from her eyes, and to dart 
such radiance upon mine as Avill cause 
it to reflect eternally. Neither could 
speak. There are moments too deep 
for utterance. The soul is lost in an 
ocean of blissful feeling, and earth, and 
all above seem visions of glories unde- 
scribable. Every thing is seen in the 

pure mirror of love, and shaped accord- 

I know not how long this blissful re- 
verie lasted. But it was suddenly in- 
terrupted by unearthly peals of laughter. 
I started, paused for a moment and all 
was still. Again, it broke upon our 
ears, my gentle partner clung to me for 
support. A cloud for a moment passed 
over the moon. Oh, had she seen the 
fury that blazed from my eyes at that 
moment, it would hare killed her. I 
impressed a burning kiss upon her lips, 
bade her farewell, and in an instant I 
was flying towards the place whence 
those sounds came. All the demons of 
hell could not have sounded such soul- 
rending peals. The bowlings of the 
lost, would seem sweet music, in com- 
parison with these. Did she dare to in- 
trude upon that Elysium ? went like 
lightening through my brain. I called 
aloud upon the intruder. I raved, and 
gnashed my teeth in fury. God knows 
what I should have done, had any be- 
ing crossed my path. On, on, I pursu- 
ed, but to no purpose. The exertion* 
the action restored me to consciousness. 
What had I done? Where was Mar- 
garette. I returned, and found the 
trysting place deserted. I flew in the 
path towards her father's dwelling, and 
overtook her a short distance from the 
house. Pardon me, dear one,, said I, 
for this rashness, it was all on your ac- 
count. She said nothing, but turned 
her eyes upon me with such a look of 
love and forgiveness, as might call forth 
despair from her horrid cave, and cause 
her to smile with ecstacy. I saw her 
safely in the house, and heard her gen- 
tle good night, and once more retraced 
my steps homeward. Would that I 



could describe the feelings of that 
night. Love, hatred, life and death 
passed in succession before me. That 
woman stalked across my path, and ten 
thousand devils seemed in her train. — 
Never did reality appear so vivid as 
that phantom. The head of Medusa 
could not have so many stings for me 
as that horid laugh. I swore revenge. 
Yes, reader, I laughed at the idea with 
hellish joy, and revelled in drawing 
hastily such pictures as make me even 
now shudder. I passed through a gloo- 
my forest. This place was peopled with 
midnight shades by the superstitious 
vulgar. No place could have been more 
congenial to my feelings at that time. 
I would have given worlds to realize 
the existence of those phantoms of the 
imagination. Unconsciously I called, 
I implored that some being, not of this 
world, would appear, and lift the veil of 
the future from my darkened, and mad- 
dened vision. On, on I went, revolving 
these direful images in my mind, and 
anticipating in ecstacy, the fulfilment of 
my wishes. The moon shone faintly 
through the trees. I strained my vi- 
sion to discover something that was on- 
ly real in my imagination. I thought 
I saw a shadow darken the path be- 
fore ; could it be real ? I looked again 
and saw nothing. I called again on 
the spirit of the woods, but in vain. — 
I was ready to curse the illusion, and as 
the words were about to fall, a tall 
shadow stood before me. I could not be 
mistaken. The time, the circumstance, 
and the sudden appearance of this ap- 
parition awed me in some degree, and 
I stood for a moment mute with aston- 
ishment, but not with fear. I called on 
it by all that was sacred, to help a poor, 

lonely, and cruelly treated mortal. For 
a moment he said nothing, but throw- 
ing off the white shroud in which he 
was enveloped, my friend (for it was 
he) stood before me. Pardon me, 
said he, for thus deceiving you, but I 
would be of some service to you. I 
would unfold you somethings which it 
behooves you to know. That wretched 
woman hath told your uncle, her night's 
experience, and undoubtedly, by exag- 
gerating, hath rendered you unpardon- 
able in his sight. I heard it all from 
an adjoining apartment, and my anxie- 
ty for your condition was the cause of 
this night's ramble. Be prepared, then, 
to justify yourself, and all may yet be 
well. Farewell — show this to no one, 
if you have any regard for your friend. 
Thus saying, he enshrouded himself, 
and suddenly disappeared among the 
trees. Reader, judge of my feelings at 
this time. Hell-deserving wretch, burst 
from my lips, for this thou shalt suffer. 
Then my love gained the ascendency, 
and bright hopes seemed to gleam on 
the dark vista before. She cannot ex- 
tinguish such happiness, said I. God 
will not suffer such impunity on the crea- 
tures of his own hand, whom his good- 
ness hath made so happy. Alas, I knew 
not what I said. I did not trust in 
God. It was only an attempt, a vain 
attempt to justify the thoughts that 
then burned in my soul. 

Full of those thoughts I arrived at 
my uncle's house, and silently entered 
my apartments. These had been my 
mother's. A feeling of sadness came 
over me, and lulled my troubled senses 
to repose. Next morning found me 
brooding over the scenes of the night. 
I resolved to ask my uncle's pardon for 



the past, and win him by entreaty. — 
Then my love, my honor, my vow 
which was pledged, rose before me. I 
knew that he would be inexorable, and 
that the only alternative would be to 
perjure my plighted love. I arose and 
determined to see him. I found him 
seated and apparently in deep thought. 
My interruption awoke him from his re- 
verie : and with a hellish smile of scorn, 
which stung me to the soul, he spoke, 
And you had a blissful season last night 
wiffh your minion. The old dotard 
will soon be out of the way, and our 
happiness will be complete. Out of my 
presence wretch. How darest thou 
stain the escutcheon of my family ? — 
Thou hast perjured thyself; thou hast 
severed the links that bind us, thou 
hast proven ungrateful. Aye ! let her 
bestow honor, possessions, and titles on 
thee. My favor thou hast forfeited for 
ever. I strove to spe.ak. Leave me, 
said he, thou hast sealed thy doom. — 
Mad with rage, and disappointment, I 
waved him a proud farewell, and my 
back was soon turned on the home of 
my fathers. Unfriend, exiled, and un- 
known, I arrived on the summit of the 
hill which over-looked my native home. 
I turned round to take a last look. My 
heart turned sick, and cold as ice. — 
Deluded tyrant, I exclaimed, could no 
other hand be found to blast my hopes, 
but thine. But I shall be avenged. — 
Departed spirit of my father, look down 
in pity on thy degraded son. Degra- 
ded by a whore, a witch in human 
form. Enchantress of the devil, al- 
though thy circsean cup hath polluted 
one of my race. I am yet free from its 
damning influence, and thoushalt drink 
it to the very dregs. Thy days are 

numbered, or I perish ignobly in the at- 
tempt. These words are but faint 
breathings of all that was harrowed up 
in my soul against her. I hissed at 
the idea of grieving for those abodes, 
and wended my way, I know not whi- 
ther. The mind sinks into utter indif- 
ference as to our fate, when all the 
world seems to frown on us, and wish 
us out of it. 

I resolved at once to leave the coun- 
try, unawares to any one, except her I 
loved. We met — I told hermy resolu- 
tion. So soon, she exclaimed, and 
sank senseless on my breast. Angel of 
life, said I, arise ; speak to me, say but 
the word, and I will not leave thee for 
ever. Then — then, I knew that I was 
loved, with a deep and holy love. Then 
I experienced, for the first time, the 
depth of woman's love. The heavenly 
purity and unselfishness of her heart. 
Wholly occupied by this feeling, I re- 
mained silent. Reader, imagine two 
beings in heaven or earth that love 
each other to adoration. The eloquence 
of the loftiest seraph, is not adequate to 
describe those feelings. That silence 
transcends his highest powers. It is 
from God, and God is love. Gently 
disengaging herself, she turned on me, 
such a look of love and sorrow, as I 
shall never forget. Let me not, said she, 
cause you to forget your vows. I could 
not be happy, even in thy embrace, 
conscious of having hindered you from 
a duty which must be performed. Go 
and fulfil thy promise, and my prayers 
shall rise in your behalf. We shall 
yet be happy. Let not a short season 
of ill-timed bliss deprive us of years of 
felicity. Blessed angel, exclaimed I, 
I go indeed, but may I not hope that 



there remains one heart true. May I 
not hope to lay down the fruit of my 
conquests, let them be what they may, 
at thy feet, and enjoy that love which 
you alone can give. She said nothing. 
I read my destiny in those eyes. Then 
I almost regretted my resolution, but it 
was too late. A piece of gold was 
broken between us, and silently we 
parted. I staid for a few days in the 
Louse of a friend, arranging matters for 
departure. Intelligence came, howe- 
vor, that the cause was given up in des- 
pair, and that the king and the greater 
part of his nobles, had departed for 
France. This was a death blow to my 
ambition, but it was unendurable. I 
could well afford to give up the battle- 
field for dearer pleasures ; and were it 
not for my awful vow, I might have 
dreamed away a blissful existence in 
spite of foreign oppression, amid the se- 
questered vales of my own sunny land. 
I turned upon new schemes, and all my 
thoughts were now concentrated on 
one dear object — how to make her hap- 
py. Thus some time passed away. I 
occasionally heard from the castle. My 
absence had softened those feelings 
which my uncle, in a season of excite- 
ment, bore towards me. At length he 
sent for me, and was anxious for a re- 
conciliation, on conditions that I would 
give up my connections. This was im- 
possible, and he gave up the matter in 
despair. But he determined on re- 
venge. He plainly told me his inten- 
tions of joining in the matrimonial 
yoke, and with her whom my soul ab- 
horred. He was inflexible, and the 
time was appointed. It was already 
here, but in the midst of their hellish 
schemes, and at the moment when they 

were to be consummated, she fell dan- 
gerously sick. The family physician 
was called upon. This man was my 
only friend there. I asked him con- 
cerning the probability of her recove- 
ry. She may recover, said he, but it 
were no great matter if it were other- 
wise. You have, now a good opportu- 
nity of ridding yourself of one who 
hath been a curse to your family. Me, 
a murderer, I exclaimed — never. Nay, 
do not be uneasy, said he, I will act for 
you. I could not bear the idea for 
some time. But his reasoning, his ex- 
postulations, at length prevailed, and I 
left the matter in his own hands. Gods, 
the thoughts of such an act, the grave 
can only obliterate. In a shore time 
she died, and was buried in the family 
vault. I endeavored to prevent this, 
but in vatfh. I swore she should not 
be buried there, and in conqjany with 
a few chosen friends, we robbed the 
grave, and sunk the coffm in au adjoin- 
ing lake, Just about the break of day, 
when returning from this midnight 
work, I heard a voice on the crags 
above me. I looked up, and saw a fe- 
male in tattered garment, and her hands 
uplifted to heaven. All hell seemed to 
be depicted in her countenance ; and 
thus she howled at me. Wretch, you 
have slain my only child. You have 
even deprived her of a grave. May 
you experience this and more. May 
thy offspring perish before thine eyes, 
and may no trace of thee or thine, 
await on earth. May you die in a for- 
eign land, unwept, unhonored, and un- 
known. With these words, she fled 
and I saw her no more. I could have 
torn her in pieces, for thus blasting my 
happiness. I returned home, and was 



received coldly. When my uncle heard 
of this, he fell sick, and died broken- 

Shortly after this, I was united to 
the object of .my affection. Ah, could 
she believe that her husband was a mur- 
derer, and all for her sake. I was hap- 
py, except that sometimes thoughts of 
the past would crowd upon me. Two 
years passed away in this blissful for- 
getful n ess, and two childred blessed our 
love. The time at length came for me 
to depart to the wars. I went. We 
were defeated— and I returned home, 
conscious of having discharged my du- 
ty, at least in that respect. Shortly af- 
ter this, I saw one of my children per- 
ish before my eyes, and, oh God, I 
could not save him. This was the first 
fulfillment of that dreaded curse. — 
Again, the cry of war rung throughout 
the land. I bid my family again, fare- 
well, and departed. We were totally 
defeated again, and the whole country 
■was devastated by the ruthless inva- 
dors. I returned home, ascended the 
hill, and lo ! the place of my forefa- 

thers presented one blackened heap of 
smoking ruins. Madly I rushed on- 
ward, and found myself standing there. 
No living being was there. I found a 
few blackened bones. I searched, and 
found my boy at some distance from 
the house, apparently dead. Having 
restored him to consciousness, I learned 
from him the fate of all, the enemy had 
set fire to the house, and his mother 
was too faint to leave her chamber. — 
The sight of my child prevented me 
from sacrificing myself on the spot. We 
departed and spent several days in the 
woods. His steps relaxed, he could ad- 
vance no further. The band of death 
was upon him, and next day I dug his 
grave with my sword. I was alone. — 
Oh, my God, what was the world then 
to me. I left my country, came to 
France, and under the shades of this 
convent I write my tale. I shall die 
unwept, unknown, in a foreign land. — 
But death hath now no terror for me. 
I rejoice at the summons, and would 
fain be at rest. 


A staid *-ssay, on such a subject as 
that of Moral Courage, may appear out 
of place in a Magazine, which is intend 
ed mainly as a vehicle to let out tlie 
pent up thought of the youthful sludmt, 
panting for deliverance from its confine- 
ment. Such an essay, too, may seem 
out of place, encased by the poetic and 
learned lucubrations of the Classic Hall. 

j.Few, therefore, may, perhaps, be dispo- 
| sed to read an essay written on a sub- 
! ject, which, while so many are ready to 
approve in the abstract, so few are ac- 
customed to reduoe to practice. Should 
my subject, therefore, prove to be un- 
welcome, or should it be found uninter- 
esting by the defect of illustration, the 
reader has only to turn over the page, 



and take that which may be more 
agreeable to his taste. But though a 
staid essay, on a moral subject, may 
not always elicit attention among the 
lovers of wit and pleasure, yet there 
are some, who may be ^lad to see, even 
in a Magazine, conducted and designed 
principally for the young, an effort to 
sustain and commend those virtues, 
which are the ornament, and which form 
the pillars of all good society. 

Among the nobler traits of character, 
which give dignity to man, and form 
a criterion, by which to judge of the 
tone of virtuous feeling, none are more 
prominent than that of Moral Cour- 
age. It is a courage, not of the duellist; 
not of the warrior, nor of the hardy 
seaman, but of one, who dares in defi- 
lanco of popular opinion to say and do 
what is proper, as dictated and directed 
by the rule of Right ; of one who can 
say yes, or know whether it may pro- 
cure for him an enemy, or a friend ; of 
one who can denouuce with boldness, a 
wicked course whether it will secure 
him a crown, or lead him to the stake ; 
of one, who erect in thought, and estab- 
lished in principle is determined in ac- 
tion, and can speak the truth whether 
it relate to friend, or foe. There is a 
species of moral courage, which bor- 
ders upon, nay, even enters the precincts 
bf rashness. It is a boldness prompted 
by occasion and circumstance, or it may 
be a natural characteristic of the consti- 
tution. Some men approve, or condemn, 
without measure, or qualifications on no 
lxed principle, but merely from their 
Dersonal like, or dislike. This is not 
jourage. It is a mere expression of per- 
sonal feeling, springing, perhaps, from 
•esentment, or some other unworthy 

motive. Some are bold to censure 
while conscious from surrounding cir- 
cumstances, they can do so without per- 
sonal hazard. This is not courage. 

Moral courage differs from physical, 
if I may use such an expression. Phy- 
sical courage displays itself in meeting 
danger where life is at hazard. Moral 
courage displays itself in an unflinch- 
ing adherence to the rule of right, at 
the hazard of public odium. It is inti- 
mately connected with moral principle, 
and its prevalence in any association, 
tells how far moral principle guides the 
conduct of the members. In the early 
period of national existence, integrity 
of character, and. a sacred regard for 
truth, have been common, but as age 
has advanced, simplicity of character 
usually fades. Men learn to shuffle, to 
evade, and to make expediency the rule 
of action. Nothing more clearly indi- 
cates the downward progress of society, 
than the decay of that moral courage 
which, when flourishing, is exhibited in 
an unflinching disapproval of what is 
wrong. Nor is there any one failing, 
into which men fall, that is more fatal 
than the decay of moral courage. For 
as it is intimately connected with moral 
principle, so its decay marks the cor- 
ruption of moral principle in the mind. 
The man who cannot nerve himself to 
say no, to a practice which his judg- 
ment condemns, has gone half way in 
the process of adopting what he disap- 
proves. His judgment is giving way ; 
bis feelings are pleading, and he will 
soon be persuaded to approve. It is in 
this way that the mind of many a youth 
who has entered a college, has been 
poisoned, and he ruined. He goes from 
his parental home with general impres- 



sions in favor of a virtuous life. He en- 
ters college where he soon finds associ- 
ates, whose high notions of personal li- 
berty, mingled with a high sense of ho- 
nor, and a manly deportment, interest 
his feelings. There is something capti- 
vating in the development. Impercep- 
tibly, he imbibes a portion of the same 
feeling. Judgment yields to inclina- 
tion, and he soon begins to fall into the 
popular current. Thus initiated, it re- 
quires no small effort to say, no. Such 
an expression would render him unpop- 
ular, and disgrace him in the estima- 
tion of his associates. Hesitation gives 
way to inquiry. Inquiry ends in reso- 
lution, and resolution ends in determin- 
ed action. His moral sense has caved 
in ; moral courage is gone. He floats 
on with the current of popular opinion, 
goes where others go, and does what 
others do, nor dares to say that what is 
done can be wrong. To shuffle in an 
excuse, is no crime ;■ to evade when 
questioned is no fault, and even to deny 
when charged with fault, is a matter of 
small consideration. To become an in- 
former is abominable ; an accuser is 
outrageous, and even to be a wit- 
ness when required is scarcely to be 
pardoned. Such are not unfrequently 
the results from a decay of Moral Prin- 
ciple and Moral Courage. No one likes 
to encounter the sneers and ridicule of 
his associates. It is only where moral 
principle is deeply rooted, that we ever 
find a moral courage sufficient to resist, 
when associates make the refusal a mat- 
ter of ridicule and scorn. This little 
word no, has an important meaning, 
and bearing upon character. Nay, it is 
a hinge, on which not unfrequently 
turns the whole of the subsequent life. 

And the use of this little word often 
displays a greater courage than the he- 
roism of the raging battle. I admire 
the man or boy, who has the courage to 
say no to a strong temptation to evil, 
in defiance of the threats, the scoffs and 
jeers of associates. That little Norwe- 
gian boy in Chicago, who chose to haz- 
ard all that his wicked associates could 
do against him rather than commit the 
act to which they urged him, ought to 
have a monument erected to his memo- 
ry that shall be as durable as time. I 
admire the youth, who, surrounded by 
the temptations of a college life can, 
with honest independence, make his 
way through the crowd, and choose ra- 
ther to incur the odium of singularity, 
than be drawn into a vortex, whence 
escape is almost a miracle. Nor is it a 
small effort for one, who is ambitious of 
distinction, to nerve himself to meet the 
disapprobation of those who have the 
power of his promotion in their hands, 
on a refusal to comply with some favor- 
ite scheme. 

Nor is the want of moral courage less 
apparent, and less fatal in effect in mete 
after entering on the business of life. — 
Where success in business depends on 
popular opinion, men aspiring to dis- 
tinction, are under strong temptation to 
shape their course so as to favor the po- 
pular feeling. Few have had the har- 
dihood to undertake to seek a passport 
to public favor independent of public 
sentiment. Expediency usually take? 
the place of sterner principle, and a 
quiet submission to the popular will 
forms the safest road to success. In ati 
uphill struggle after distinction, princi- 
pies are easily warped, or laid aside, o» 
made to yield to the supposed necessity 



of the case. A habit thus formed, in 
the outset of business, is not easily 
laid aside when character has become 
so established as not to need this ad- 
ventitious arid. Time was when men of 
this noble stamp were common in our 
country. Among the patriots of the 
Revolution there were men, who had 
the courage to think and act with so- 
vereign independence. These patriots 
dared to speak openly what they 
thought, and to act on the cool delibe- 
ration of their own judgment, thus 
giving a direction to public opinion, ra- 
ther waiting for action till they had as- 
certained what public opinion might 

Examples in illustration of the char- 
acter and results of moral courage are 
I furnished in every department of histo- 
! ry. That was a noble example in the 
old Roman General, who was sent when 
a prisoner, from Carthage to Rome, to 
intercede for the exchange of prisoners, 
when urged by the Senate not to re- 
turn, and that backed by all the strength 
; of the empire to sustain the invitation, 
, he nobly refused, choosing to encounter 
.all the torture the Carthegenians could 
inflict rather than forfeit his word. The 
.Bible is full of examples. Daniel chose 
to incur the hazard of being cast into 
it the lion's den rather than worship an 
idol God. Whether it be right in the 
^sight of God, to barken unto you more 
ithan unto God. " Judge ye," said Pe- 
ter to his persecutors. Among the re- 
formers, who ever doubted the courage 
;of Luther ? Knox, the Apostle of 
.Scotland, in various instances, furnished 
i remarkable displays of moral courage. 
: In defiance of an interdict from a Ro- 
mish Bishop ; and in view of an armed 
Vol. IV.— No. 14. 

soldiery, prepared to kill him, he dar- 
ed to preach against the Pope, and 
image worship. He boldly reproved 
the queen for an improper marriao-e. 
He roused his countrymen to a conflict 
with their enemies, by his preaching 
after they had suffered a dreadful de- 
feat. Well might Moreton say of him, 
as he did in death, "There lies the man 
who never feared the face of his fellow- 

The man of moral courage clears his 
way through the trials and intricate 
windings of his pilgrimage state. Those 
obstructions, which to others, are insup- 
erable, he breaks away, without permit- 
ting them to interpose. While others 
by their timidity, are perpetually in- 
volved in entanglement. His boldness, 
is to him, a defence that protects him. 
from importunity, and saves him from- 

alliances that would prove his ruin- 

The want of moral courage or the fear 
to say no, has brought many a man 
from affluence to poverty. Nay, and a 
large portion of the mistakes, which in- 
volve men in trouble, in connection with 
each other, spring from this source. — 
A disposition to accommodate in small 
things, has formed a claim for larger 
demands. Yielding in little things,, 
has made it difficult to refuse in larger;: 
and thus an indiv'dual is under a sort of 
compulsion to consent, and that consent 
becomes his ruin. The merchant wants 
favors, and he that asks, must give in 
turn. He dares not say no, becomes 
liable for one, then another, and before 
he is aware of danger he is undone. — 
The trader wants custom, and fearing 
he shall offend by suspecting the res- 
ponsibility of a customer, allows debts 
to accumulate till payment is even past 



expectation. Had he had courage at 
the commencement of the business to 
have acted in accordance with his con- 
victions, he would have saved himself 
from loss, and his debtor from foolish 
extravagance. Courage to say no, is of 
mighty importance, frequently, in the 
affairs of men. In the popular assem- 
bly ; in the Legislative hall ; in profes- 
sional occupation ; in convivial associa- 
tions, moral courage is necessary not 
only as a safeguard against evil, but as 
securing the highest degree of respect. 
The youth, who refuses to go with his 
companions to the length of their de- 
sires, may for the time, incur their 
scorn, but in the end he will be applaud- 
ed for his course. Equally true is it in 
every department of life. The preach- 
er who boldly reprovesprevailing faults, 
may incur the censure of his hearers, 
but in the end judgment will be in his 

Would you keep a conscience void 

of offence ; would you avoid dangerous 1 
entanglements ; would you secure aj 
high reputation ; would you do the 
greatest amount of good to your fellow 
men, then take an honest, independent 
course, think and act for yourself. Fear 
not to say no, when invited to enter a 
forbidden path. This moral courage is 
among the noblest of virtues — the no- 
blest trait of a y outhful mind, and the 
surest passport to substantial fame. — 
He who exhibits in his eye ; in his 
words, and his actions, evidence of s 
self determining spirit ; a courage tc 
resist all enticement to wrong; a courage 
to suppress inclinations where judg 
ment disapproves, will sweep away t 
large portion of the difficulties that maj 
beset his part in life, and secure to him 
self a peace of mind, that a conscious 
rectitude alone can give ; and a reputa 
tion which will shine with the greate 
brilliancy the longer it continues. 



On one of the coldest winter nights of 
18 — , a traveler was plodding his wea- 
ry way on foot, along the bank of the 
Pee Dee. The sun had set in clouds, 
•dark and lowering ; and in a few mi- 
nutes afterward, the cold chilly rain, 
began to pour down in torrents. Pitchy 
darkness soon succeeded, and the be- 
nighted traveler was almost compelled 
to feel his way along the road, now 
rendered a stream by the unceasing 
Tain. Long and slowly did he pick his 
way with eyes straining to pierce the 
solid darkness, if, perhaps, he might 

catch a welcome ray from the cheerfu 

fireside of his hospitable fellow-mar 

which would direct him to a she] 

ter from the beating storm. 

Anxiously did he listen for tome 

Honest watch-dogs bark, 

Bay deep-mouthed welcome. 

But long did he listen in vain. A 

length, having despaired of findinj 

shelter, he is resigning himself t< 

his fate, when a faint ray of ligh 

strikes his vision ; he raises his droop 

ing head, but it is gone, and he de 

sponds again. But see! it appear 

again, as if shining through the crack 



of a log house — yes, a negro's cabin; but 
little recks he, whether it proceeds from 
a well ventilated log hut, or whether it 
is softened by the damask curtains of a 
princely mansion. 'Tis a fire and a roof, 
and he hastens on with as much emo- 
tion of joy and gratitude, as that which 
swelled the bosom of Columbus when 
first he saw a moving light on the 
shores of a New World. With such 
feelings did he place his foot on the ne- 
gro's threshold. But the sable inmate 
bars the entrance. He insists ; but the 
black tells him, " its de boss's order," 
and must be obeyed. 

The traveler is horrified at theinhos- 
pitality, and determines to see the in- 
human monster who could shut his 
door against a fellow being, on such a 
night; and to try all means of moving 
his pity. Taking the black along as a 
guide, he proceeds through the spaci- 
ous enclosure, and knocks at a princely 
mansion. " Who's there ?" demanded a 
gruff voice. "A trabler" answered the 
negro, " what made mefotch him here 
spite of my teeth." " Tell him to be off," 
is growled from within. The traveler 
remonstrates, begs, implores, in vain. — 
"Drive him off," shouts the inhuman 
iwretch. And off he is driven with a 
heavy heart, to plod his weary way 
through darkness, rand and rain, or to 
find shelter beneath a more friendly 

, Years pass on. Many joyous laughs 
ihave been heard — many a tear has fal- 
en — many weary travelers have been 
driven from the inhospitable mansion. 
(Vlean while by industry and economy — 
perchance by dishonesty — our Simon 
i^rows rich, and bethinks him that he 
<;rill take a " trip North," as southern 

summers are rather warm for pamper- 
ed flesh and bloated aristocracy. 

In a few days he sets out with family, 
carriage and "four." Dandling his 
purse, feeling independent, and cherish- 
ing his misanthropy, he boasts that 
" gold will buy all the friendship he 
needs." He had not proceeded far 
when his carriage broke down ; but for- 
tunately it was immediately in front of 
a farm house, where he could abide 
with his family until it could be repair- 
ed. The farmer is sorry for his mis- 
fortune, but hospitably invites him to 
share his roof. Being detained several 
days, he is treated with all the kindness 
for which " the country" is justly cele- 
brated. On leaving, our misanthrope 
steps up to the farmer, and thanking 
him for his kindness, demanded his 
" bill." 

" You ow,e me nothing," replies the 

^But I do," .says the other, " and 
"you shall take it." 

" No," says he, " yo've already paid 

"Paid you," replies the astonished 
traveler; "when, and where have I 
paid you !" 

"Do you remember," answers the 
farmer, " the cold and rainy night when 
you drove a benighted traveler from 
your door ! Then, you paid this debt, 
for / was that traveler /" 

Eloquent — awfully eloquent to the 
Misanthrope; were these few words. — 
Deep was the thrust of simple kindness 
— of *' good for evil" — for it reached a 
place in his heart, never touched before. 
Falling on his knees, the long confined 
fountains of his tears are broken up, 
and bursting forth, they suffuse his 



iron face. The stern, proud, inde- 
pendent man, is humbled in the dust. 
"Good for evil," has accomplished 
what man's wisdom and experience 
could never have done. He whom the 
prayers and tears of sufferers, with the 
entreaties of wife and children have 
long failed to move, is melted by " sim 
pie kindness." He who shut his eyes 
against his fellow man in distress, now 
covers them with his hands in shame, 
before one who was driven from his 
door. He who closed his ears against 
petitions which might move the hearts 
of savages, would now close them for- 
ever, to shut out that sentence, more 

awful to him than the thunder of hea- 
ven. " / am that traveler /" 

Nor was this all. That home-thrust 
was fatal to his misanthropy, and the 
bitter scalding tears, washed away all 
traces of its presence. But, in its stead 
sprang up philanthropy, fair and pure, 
and flourishing as a "green bay tree." 
Dismissing rj'ide at the same moment, 
he turns his horses' heads homeward, an 
altered man — the lion is changed to the 
lamb. His house is no longer j inhib- 
ited to the needy. Wide, open his hos- 
pitable doors to all. And he even goes 
so far as to build a house for the especial 
accommodation of ' benighted travelers. 


"We intend to speak of some of the j 
vast accessions which have been made 
to the productive energies of labor, and 
the consequent augmentations of hu- 
man industry. The necessaries, com- 
forts and luxuries of life are now pro- 
duced in unparalleled profusion. The 
effect of an abundant supply is to make 
articles cheap. Every man can now 
provide for himself and those depend- 
ent upon him with less labor and at a 
cheaper rate than heretofore ; the im- 
proved conditions of society show this 
to be true. But it is not in this point 
of view that we delight to contemplate 
the subject. Its influence on the phy- 
sical condition is great, but that of it 
on his intellect is greater. Men are not 
only better fed and clothed than form- 
erly, but they are infinitely better 

taught. Machinery has released sora< 
from hand-work who have appliec 
themselves to head-work. Thought i 
now no longer confined to the narrov 
circle of the thinker ; machinery ha, 
furnished it with a conveyance to g< 
abroad. The speaker yields to th 
writer; the pen has vanquished th 
tongue. Spoken words cannot be pre 
served long. Cicero thundered in th 
Roman Forum amid the proud monu 
ments of his country's victories, sui 
rounded by the sacred altars of her re 
ligion, to an audience that shudderec 
quailed, kindled and even burned as b 
spoke. His oration was soon forgotte: 
by the multitude save some burnm 
thought which was stamped upon th 
memory and thus handed down as 
proverb. Very different is the cas 



now ; an orator arises in the U. S. Sen- 
ate ; every word as it falls from his lips 
is caught and written down ; soon the 
printing press gives them wings and 
the multiplied machinery of convey- 
ance aid them in flying throughout the 
^length and breadth of our Union. — 
,'" Winged words" seem to be no longer 
Homeric, but belong to our own day 
and generation. In a few days they 
"reached Liverpool and are attentively 
heard by the entire island, and then 
'they speedily cross the English Chan- 
nel into France, Germany and Den- 
mark, rapidly learning new languages 
as they rush along. They make the 
circuit of the world ; they are heard in 
India and Australia and the isles of the 
iPacific raise up their burning heads to 
hear. Its powers and advantage are 
shared by all who choose to apply their 
engergies of mind and body. Its powers 
and advantage are shared by all who 
c choose to apply their energies of mind 
./andbody. It may eminate from the clos- 
et of the most humble student and be of 
force to revolutionize an empire. It 
s has been said, and well too, that " one 
«kindling thought from a retired and ob- 
]scure man may live when thrones and 
[the memory of those who occupied 
i them are obliterated, and like an un- 
ifying fire illuminate and quicken all 
future generations." 

Machinery has not only set free many 
[to teach, but a much greater uumber to 
j be taught. Let all the machines that 
supply the present wants of our nation 
t be entirely swepted away from us ; it re- 
i quires no prophetic skill to see that im- 
mediately all of our school houses would 
j be empty ; thousands are now instruct- 
k ed where formerly but one was. Knowl- 

edge is now widely diffused through all 
classes of society; this diffusion is in- 
creasing every day. Through the print- 
ing Press and the modern engines of 
swift conveyance, sympathies are arous- 
ed between individuals and even be- 
tween different nations. The evidence 
of this is, that the friends of freedom 
constitute one great party all over the 
world. Where even a struggle for lib- 
erty begins, upon that spot is fixed and 
concentrated the attention of all the 
civilized portion of mankind. Many 
are now v atching the present contest 
in Europe ; opinions are formed and 
these become united and strong. Such 
are spiritual, wide-reaching and mighty. 
They dethrone kings, abrogate laws and 
chunge customs. They are stronger 
than a mighty army ; barriers and cor- 
dons cannot shut them out; fortresses 
and citidels are no defence against 
them ; they spread every where and 
wherever they spread they certainly 

Machinery has greatly prolonged the 
term of human existance. This is not 
fancy but fact; not imagination but 
reality. Human life is now measured 
by deeds and not by years. He lives 
long who accomplishes much ; he lives 
longer than other men when he accom- 
plishes more they do. How much more 
can be accomplished by one man now 
than could be fifty years ago. The 
multiplied facilities of intercourse of the 
present day, and the cunningly devised 
methods of doing things have introduc- 
ed extraordinary dispatch in all the 
operations of life and increased a hun- 
dred fold the active powers of man. — 
Not only are private acts more numer- 
ous, but public events are crowded into 



the history of a moment. When we 
behold around the improved machinery 
of the present day, acting with great 
energy and producing such great re- 
sults, we are first filled with astonishment 
and then with admiration. 

It was the invention of two machines 
that caused England to triumph over 
Napoleon. Arkwright's machine for 
spinning cotton and Watt's application 
of steam to manufacturing purposes. — 
These two inventions conquered Bona- 
parte, Great Britain then manufactur 
ed for the world ; wealth flowed into 
her treasury from all parts of the globe; 
with this she maintained her armies and 
aided nearly all of Napoleon's enemies ; 
then taking the lead in the great strug- 
gle, she nobly maintained her position 
until the great battle of Waterloo final- 
ly decided the fate of Napoleon and the 
whole of Europe. These inventions 
made no great and splendid show ; they 
attracted but little attention. No lau- 
rel wreath bound the brow of either of 
the inventors, though in our esteem 
they were far more worthy of it than 
the proudest conquerer that ever desolat- 
ed the earth. The poet has never done 
either of them the reverence to notice 
them in his song; the historian has 
honored them but with the slightest 
passing nod ; yet did these men by 
their inventive genius give England 
power to control the greatest struggle 
that erer put in peril the best interests 
of man. 

How has machinery produced these 
miraculous events ? How long have 
the strong influences been acting on so- 
ciety ? The simple machines of anti- 
quity were only a help to individual la- 
bor and are never thought of now when 

machinery is named. Every thing was 
then done by hand ; navigation clung 
steadily to the shore and knowledge 
was diffused in scanty quantities. The 
era of machinery may be said to have 
commenced within the last seventy-five 
years. Man has called upon nature 
with its unwearied powers to assist him, 
and it has obeyed his call. Whatever 
agency expand, contracts, uplifts, impels, 
retards or depresses is set to work. In 
our watches we bid elasticity measure 
time. With levers and pulleys, we 
make gravitation undo itself. We stop 
the water as it flows to the ocean ; we 
compel it to do so mucn carding, spin- 
ning and weaving before it is allowed 
to pass. We force the atmosphere we 
bieath to raise water from wells and 
rivers by machinery to aid us in un- 
counted and countless operations. By 
the aid of fire we transform water into 
steam, almost the most potent of all 
agents that man can employ. Man 
yokes the hostile elements of fire and 
water, and subjects them to his bid- 
ding. Steam is the living soul of mod- 
ern machinery. It is equal to the vast- 
est operations, and will perform the 
most minute. It delves into the mine; 
raises the ore to the top and converts 
it into a thousand forms. It helps to 
make the engine, a habitation for itself 
afterwards; it brings the cotton the 
manufactory, and then it cards, spins, 
weaves and stamps it, and then distri- 
butes the fabric for sale. We find it 
on the Rhine and the Danube, driving 
huge boats through the echoing forest 
by the castles of chivalrous ages, accus- 
tomed to behold far different scenes. It 
hurries commerce on the Indian ocean 
while it is doing the same on the " Fa* 



ther of waters." Friction and gravity 
alone continue to oppose the dominion 
of steam over space ; but wheel and 
| axle with the application of oil have 
almost removed these. Railroads are 
i constructed over hills, mountains and 
j plains, making near neighbors of dis- 
tant territories. Long trains of cars are 
placed upon them, the horse is unhar- 
nessed ; he is too slow and too weak to 
perform the required task. At com- 
mand the whole move on in majestic 
order under the strong impulses of an 
invisible power, with a velocity that al- 
most defies description. The lover 
need no longer pray for the wings of a 
bird to bear him through the air to his 
love ; the railway car will bear him 
swifter than the swiftest bird. The ex- 
clamation of the poet is no longer ex- 
itravagaut of the achievements of man's 
genius, spirit power. 

Look down on earth ; what seest thou ! Won- 

derous things ! 
Terrestrial wonders that eclipse the skies ! 

What length oi baboured lands ! What loaded 

Loaded by man for pleasure, wealth or war ! 
Seas, winds and planets, into service brought, 
His art acknowledge and subserve his ends. 
Nor can the eternal rock his will withstand ; 
What levelled mountains! and what lifted 

vales ! 
High through mid air, here, streams are taught 

to flow ; 
Whole rivers, there, laid in basins, sleep. 
Here plains turn oceans; there, vast oceans 

join . 

Through kingdoms, channalled deep from shore 

to shore. 
Earth's disembowelled! Measured are the 

skies ! 
Stars are detected in their deep recess { 
Creation widens ! Vanquished nature yields ! 
Her secrets are extorted ! Art prevails ! 
What monument of genius, spirit power." 

This was a true delineation, when 
written, of the splendid triumphs of the 
human intellect over matter. Let our 
reader add to it all the wonders which 
have been achieved by steam, and they 
will have some faint idea of what the 
mechanical powers have done and are 
still doing for man. 


When youth's wild wayward course I ran 

And spent in wickedness my days, 
ITwas then, that first, my soul began 

To feel " my mother lives and prays," 
She prays that God would check her child, 

By Holy Spirit given, 
ind turn his thoughts now roaming wild, 

Up to the things of heaven. 

When 'mid the snares of College years, 

My steps are led in error's ways, 
Tis sure to start repentant tears, 

To think "My Mother lives and prays, 
iSbe prays, I may of God be blest, 

And guarded from all harm, 
she prays that Christ would make roe rest 

By fai'-h, upon His arm. 

When spurred by pure ambition's good, 
To win the student's greenest bays. 

Tis this that cheers me up the road, 
I know " My Mother lives and prays," 

She prays her boy may wiser prove, 

In God's mysterious laws, 
And strive for honor from above, 

More than for man's applause. 

Should health and wealth and friends depart, 

And Hope withdraw her genial rays ; 
It still will ease my aching heart, 

To know — "My mother lives and prays," 
She prays, that I, all joy may find, 

In Christ's redeeming love. 
And friends who ne'er will prove unkind 

In that bright world above. 

My Mother; when in yon silent grave, 

Thou liest beneath the grassy clod, 
I'll bless the memory of thy love, 

The pure, the priceless gift of God, 
My grateful heart will ne'er forget, 

While God prolongs my days, 
That I can now with joy repeat, 

" My Mother lives and prays." 







Come now, ye pecple of the earth draw nigh, 
Ye, chiefly — nohle Lords and Princes high ; 
And ye, who judge the land in wisdom come ; 
And ye ; who show to men the Christian's 

And all the blessings to the faithful given, 
And ope' to mortal ones the gates of heaven ; 
But first of all, ye Queens of mighty states, 
And Princes — noble shoots of Kings so great, 
Bright stars of France, though here with grief 

to day, 
Obscured and dim'd as with a cloud, survey, 
What now remains of one so nobly born, 
And round his mortal body sadly mourn 
O'er all his grandeur fled and glory gone. 

Cast round your eyes on every side and lo ! 
There's nought that power or piety can do, 
The brave to honor that is left undone ; 
Inscriptions, titles, monumental stone, 
All tokens vain of that which is no more. 
Sad forms ! which seem around the tomb to 

Their tears for him they never can restore. 
Frail images of keen affliction's hour, 
Which time's remorseless tooth will soon de- 
And here, on high their stately columns rise, 
Which anxious seem to bear unto the skies, 
A mighty proof that mortal man is nought. 

Come ye, who fame and honor long have 

Here nothing lacks, of all the world can give, 
Yet all is nought; the man has ceased to live. 
Then o'er these poor remains of human life 
Pour out your tears, from hearts with sorrow 

Bemoan the hero's vain immortal fame, 
For all the world can give is but a name. 

Ye war-like and intrepid souls draw near, 
Ye who with ardour run your brave career 
I ask, could ye once else more worthy deem 
Of your sincere obedience and esteem, 

Or could ye show one who with fairer hands 
Bestowed his grace or issued his commands. 

Bewail your noble chieftain then to-day, 
And groaning deep pour forth this mournful 

We weep because a mighty prince is dead, 
Who oft through dangers great our armies 

Urged on by his illustrious deeds in war, 
Brave captains won the hero's brightest star, 
And death cannot take from his shade the pow 

To help us now within the conflict's hour — 
Tho' silent is his voice, his name shall live, 
And this will bid our fainting souls revive, 
And this will bid us too for death prepare, 
And seek for respite from our labors where 
Affliction, grief, and pain can never come, 
For peace belongs to our eternal home, 
And while the Kings of earth, we justly serve, 
The mandates of the heavenly King observe, 
Ye mourning ones ! obey the eternal God, 
And humbly learn to kiss his chastening rod. 
He is a God of pity and of love, 
And ruling holy on this throne above, 
More worthy deems a cup of water cold, 
Bestowed in Jesus' name than all the gold, 
Which rich men give to gain the world's ap- 
Or all your blood poured out in freedom's 

Then count your real life but just begun, 
When first you lean on God's beloved son ; 
And to a master so benificent, 
Yield up yourselves as sinners penitent. 
Ye chiefs — will ye not now his tomb surround, 
In whom a faithful friend ye ever found, 
And pour out here your bitter tears and pray- 
For one who ever shared your anxious cares, 
Oh ! Guard the memory of the hero well, 
Whose daring courage nothing could excell 
His virtue 'cept, and let him ever live 


Within your hearts, and consolation give 
In times of peace — example, when 'tis war, 
And also profit from his virtue draw. 

For me, since after-all the rest I come, 
To pay these last sad duties at your tomb.l 
O Prince ! my heart your life will ne'er forget, 
A worthy theme of praises and regret ! 
Your looks shall there be graven deep, but 

nought ; 
Of that ferocious look which victory brought ; 
Oh no ! I shall not wish to see a trace, 
In you of aught that death can e'er efface. 

Your looks shall then immortal features wear, 
And I shall love to see you as you were, 
In that last day beneath the hand of God 
When you through death's dark vale in triumph 

'Twas then celestial glories seemed begun, 
E'er life was o'er and earth's vain course was 


A more trumphant victory then you saw, 
Than e'er you gained at Fribourg or Rocroi. 

And I, enraptured with the glorious sight, 
Shall oft the lovely words of John recite ; 
" Our faith can e'en the power of death defeat, 
And all the world subdue beneath our feet." 

Enjoy that glorious victory then O Prince ! 

For it iii heaven eternal joy evince ! 

And round the throne pour forth a heavenly 

Yea worthy is the Lamb for sinners slain ! 
Great Prince, instead of wailing others' death, 
By thy example taught, henceforth my breath 
To patron saint I'll pour in fervent prayers ; 
And blessed be, if warned by these gray hairs, 
That I must give account for every deed 
In body done, I pave my voice to feed 
My flocks with truth. But now I must forbear, 
My ardor fails, my spirits weary wear. 


Written at the Grave of a Friend in the Raleigh Cemetery. 


Within this silent graveyard, all alone, 

Dear Horace, on thy tomh, I'm leaning now; 
And o'er our early friendship, lost and gone, 
My tears, with grief and joy commingled, 
With grief to think we never more shall meet 
To share again our youthful scenes of mirth. 
But Oh! with joy, to know in heav'n we'll 
The Christian friends we loved and lost on 

TTis now the melancholy hour of eve, 

And sadness reigns o'er this sequestered 
The day is gone, and I am left to grieve 

In silence ; but yon sympathizing dove 
Upon the air pours forth her plaintive cry, 

And o'er thy grave the sportive evening 
"n pity stops, and heaves a mournful sigh: 

Then hurries on to play with forest trees. 

V.nd from yon city's noisy streets arise, 
Upon the evening air, a Babel sound ; 

Which, wafted by the gentle breeze, now dies 
In murm'ring accents o'er this sacred ground. 

There busy men their schemes for wealth pur- 
And vainest Fashion holds supreme control ; 

And Pride, bedecked in robes of richest hue, 
Along the streets in stately grandeur roll. 

Their pleasures all are vain ; they soon will 

All earth-born pleasures, vain and fleeting 
A few gay summers more, and all will lie 

In death, beside thee in this silent grove. 
May humbler joys be mine ! I love to steal 

Away from earth and all it ever gave, 
And learn in solitude to think and feel; 
And now, my thoughts are with thee in the 

We once, together, spent our life's young 
Together wandered o'er each field and wood, 
Along each babbling brook bedecked with flow- 


.a, side by side, we daily knelt to God. 
...nd at the village school 'twas still the same ; 
One joy, one hope, one fear, impelled us 
If on the green, we played our boyish game, 
Or at our task we strove, reward to gain. 

Earth's brightest hopes, and dearest joys were 

In virtue's ways a pious father strove 
To train thy mind ; and kneeling at thy shrine 

A sister paid an idolizing love. 
The Muses at thy feet their riches laid, 

And Science smiled upon thee from above, 
And to thy genius, highest honors paid. 

This sculptured stone* attests thy comrade's 

I vainly dreamed that thou would'st, one day, 
Among the first of Carolina's sons : 
But God, in his mysterious plan, saw fit, 

To bid thee stand amongst his sainted ones. 
Is it, to thee in heaven yet made known, 
By Him, whose purpose Life and Death ful- 
Why thou, 'midst all thy hopes, was striken 
And I was left ? How strange his righteous 
will ! 

* Erected by his fellow members of the Dia- 
lectic Society. 

How sad, the memory of thy dying bed : 

Thy loving father o'er thee humbly bent, 
And strove with God in prayer. No tear he 
But yet his bosom was with anguish rent. 
His grief had sunk within his breast too deep 
For tears to flow. They always strive to 
Their grief who grieve the most. He could 
not weep, 
But clasped thy chilly hands and thus he 
"My boy! my darling boy! we now mus 
To God, have I committed thee, my son !" 
Then from the deep recesses of his heart, 
There rose an earnest prayer, " Thy will be 
And then resigned, once more he cried aloud, 
" My son ! my son ! Thou 'rt in the hands of 
Oh ! it was heard, to see the strong man bow- 
And deeply groaning, 'neath the chast'ning 
But now farewell ! I must, once more, away, 
And leave thee to thy lone and quiet sleep : 
The turtle dove has hushed her mourning lay, : 

And brooding shadows coldly o'er me creep, 
I must on earth, a few more days abide, 

But when my work is done and life is worn, ' 
I'll come and lay me down, and side by side i 

We'll sleep, until the resurrection morn. 


While on a visit out West some few 
years ago, I chanced one bright May 
evening to stroll off by myself, in pur- 
suit of some change of scene, and to ac- 
quaint myself more familiarly with the 
beauties of nature ; and as I carefully 
scanned every object which presented 
itself, and not considering my route, I 
was surprised finally to find myself com- 
pletely lost amid the grandeur and aw- 
ful loveliness of a primeval forest. 

The day was already rapidly wast- 
ing, and as twilight was beginning to 

throw her dark mantle around nature's 
wide and deversified domain, I stopped, 
as if stricken by some magic wand, to 
lend an ear to the melodious strain of a 
feathered songster, and to catch the last 
dying trace of the silver moon as she 
sunk gently into her saffron couch. 

When my faithful guide had left me 
to wander amid the gloomy shades of 
night, I began to shudder with fear, my 
limbs gave way to an irresistable tre- 
mour, and I stood confounded. No 
sound could be heard save the sweet 


warbling of birds, occasionally commin- 
gled with the mournful and uncouth 
moping of the owl ; but soon the famil- 
iar admonition " to delay is dangerous' 
occurred to me, and, so thought I, espe- 
cially when surrounded by the monsters 
of the forest, with nothing upon which 
to lean for protection. 

On I wended my way as memory 
suggested, when all of a sudden I was 
saluted with an imperative and gnun, 
" who are you?" Deluded as I was, in 
the course I had taken, of course I did 
not hesitate to give my name, and en- 
quired as courteously as I was capable, 
the distance to the point of my destina- 
tion : "Oh ! stranger," said the ruffian, 
"you have indeed missed your way, 
but fortune has thrown you in mine ; 
since it is my profession, I shall avail 
lmyself of the afforded opportunity of 
perpetrating my design," I was shocked 
at the language. My imagination could 
not solve the mystery, — with all my 
thinking faculties in the height of their 
exercise, I strove in vain to detect his 
purpose. But soon the mystery was 
disclosed, the awful story was told. He 
declared to me in plain language his 
his object, to rob me of my purse and 
deprive me of my life. 

Just at this crisis 'twould not have 
6een a difficult matter to have freed 
myself from his insolent power; but ere 
I had time to carry out my design, I 
»as surrounded by a troop of sanguina- 
ry brigands. Then even I might have 
sntertained hope of escape ; but when 
i reflected that I was totally unarmed, 
vithout even a pocket knife, my hope 
'anished, and I was left, though reluc- 
antly to resign myself to a sad fate. — 
The only hope left me then was my in- 

trigue and subtilty ; deprecations were 
unavailing, their purpose being firmly 
and inexorably fited. 

I was taken by force along a rugged 
path, where darkness held its sway ; the 
way seemed unusually long, as I was 
anxious to know my doom ; but finally 
I was ushered into a little subterranean 
cavern, surrounded by almost impene- 
trable forest. I began to think of my 
irredeemable condition ; blinding tears 
filled my eyes, at the thought of dying 
in the wild woods, where no friend or 
relative would ever know my misfortune; 
no relic left to entitle me to a place in 
the old churchyard, but perhaps the 
babbling riverlet only shall whisper the 
story of my fate to the passing breeze 
to be borne on inaudibly 'till the 
changes of a final Judgment shall 
quicken the sensitiveness of man's ear to 
the woes, which continually float 
through thd air of heaven. 

These unpleasant reflections oppress- 
ed me, and I was waiting to receive my 
sentence in the agonies of fear. But my 
captors were not so eager to shed my 
blood as I anticipated ; they set before 
me a scanty morsel of dried venison 
and bread, but my heart was too de- 
pressed with grief, to allow me to sati- 
ate the cravings of a pinching appe- 

They used the harshest means to 
compel me to eat (oaths and threats — 
I forbear to repeat.) After forcing a 
few mouthfuls, I begged to be excused, 
assigning some reasou, which proved 

Their conversation was at large con- 
cerning the many murders they had 
perpetrated, ard occasionally allusion 
was made to my own ; they spoke of the 


^able treasures they had procured by 
seducing travelers out of their way, and 
murdering them. 

While dwelling on this subject they 
demanded my purse, I hesitated not, 
but punctually surrendered it contain- 
ing the paltry and pitiful sum of thirty 

One remarked, " I believe he is gul- 
ling us, this is not all his money ;" I 
pledged my word it was and they de- 
sisted from,examining me. 

Another declared the amount was 
not sufficient to jastify my living, while 
another jocundly inquired, if I would 
not be pleased to participate in such a 
noble vocation. 

I discovered their drinking and ca- 
rousing propensities tc be predominant, 
and an avenue to my escape was open- 

They had some place of resort, for 
the purpose of obtaining occasionally a 
jug of the "juice," as they termed it, 
and one Friday morning, being hazy 
and a shower apprehended, nothing 
would do but that they must spend the 
day in their usual rioting and revelling, 
and, indeed, this day shall ever be to 
me a source of pleasure and delight, 
and I shall always be indebted to a 
small piece of "opium" (which I habi- 
tually carried as an antidote against a 
constitutional ailment,) as the weapon 
of my salvation, and for my rescue from 
the hands of villianous wretches, in 
whose merciless hands I had fal- 
len unawares ; indeed when I revert 
to this moment I am unable to repress 
my emotions of gladness, and I pour 
them forth in copious gushing tears ; 
this day serves as the beacon light with 
which I direct my future course, and I 

shall ever hallow it as sacked and pro- 

The day had somewhat advanced 
when the party concluded to pay their 
respects to the "tippling saloon," but in 
truth I cannot imagine how or where 
they procured the "bitters," with which 
to brighten their ideas and resuscitate 
themselves. They accordingly started 
with the understanding that one or two 
of the number should remain with me, 
since to leave me even in bondage 
would be unsafe, and to take me along 
with them would be but to betray them- 
selves, and thus I was left in the cave 
with two rough-handed bully specimens 
of humanity, who appeared from the 
degree of barbarity to which they had 
attained, as if the light of civilization* 
would be as much a prodigy to them 
as the faculty of sight to one who has 
never enjoyed the privilege of beholding 
his ministering angel since nature has 
left him unfinished. 

Wildly did my heart beat while I 
contemplated the last and only mode of 
my escape. As fortune had decreed it, 
they had left in an old vessel, a small 
quantity of " alcohol," and as it is the 
disposition of most men who in- 
dulge in the deceptive fluid to " drink 
and be merry," and to see the bottoms 
of their "jugs," they soon discovered 
the bounty, and this I thought would 
be an effective agent in accomplishing 
my escape. 

They did not allow the moments to 
glide away without often visiting and 
embracing the "old companion," but 
before drinking themselves they politely 
proffered it to me. Having in mind 
the stratagem, I refused to drink from 
the mouth of the "jug," but insisted 



that I should drink from a glass, which 
I had perceived in one corner of the 
cave, on the top of an old cupboard. 

Accordingly I arose from my seat, 
siezed the tumbler, and walked toward 
the entrance of the cave, through the 
pretext of diluting mine with water, 
and as I turned my back upon them, 
after pouring out a sufficient quantity 
for myself, I slyly dropped into the 
"jug" a piece of opium, as much as 
the orifice of it would admit, thereupon 
I returned tha "jug," and drank a por- 
tion of mine, setting aside the remain- 
der ; they snatched up the jug and des- 
patched about half of theirs. 

They were very free in conversation 
and swigging copiously, with the hope 
of their companion's return with a re- 
plenished stock ; it was not long before 
I began to perceive an inclination to 
droop and nod. This was highly grat- 
ifying to me, and I began to think my 
design was nearly accomplished. Some 
iialf hour had elapsed when the last 
drop was swallowed. 

Then thought I, if I am foiled in my 
attempts, I am undone ; and what if 
they should detect the artifice ? though 
they could not suspect me. 

But soon all such difficulties were 
obviated ; Somnus began to wrap them 
in his embraces, and soon they were lit- 
erally dead — asleep. I waited until I 
could confide in the reality, and I light- 
ly stole from my place of confinement- 
My steps were light, but rapid ; I hur- 
ried on through the thick and gloomy 
woods, regardless of path or direction 
treading upon leaves and mosses never 
1 pressed by any mortal's foot, save per- 
■ haps that of the red man, and his more 
I civilized, but still more terrifying kins- 
man — the robber. 

On I rambled in the lonely and un- 
inhabited wild, and it still seemed that 
I was destined to become a prey to rav- 
enous beasts, if not to consuming hun- 
ger. The sun was fast approaching the 
visible horizon, and just as its splendid 
light sunk from my view, I stepped 
into an open track, which I found to 
be the Public Highway. 

My heart bounded with ineffable joy 
as I looked back on my condition the 
night preceding ; but this was no place 
or time for reflection. 

Even then a feeling of awe pervaded 
my bosom, and caused me to quake with 
fear, when I considered myself not yet 
safe from the pursuit of the demons. I 
was at a loss to know what course to 
pursue ; the distance or direction to my 
friend's residence I was utterly ignorant 
of; no trace by which I might deter- 
mine the route, presented itself, but ere 
long at a distance, I heard the low and 
indistinct tramplings of a steed in a 
moderate gait, approaching near, I with 
quivering voice entreated the equestri- 
an's information. He eagerly inquired 
the cause of my disaster, and the cir- 
cumstances connected. He listened at- 
tentively, and with intense interest, 
while I related the pensive and touch- 
ing story, and with a.deepsigh lamented 
my once hopeless condition, and heartily 
congratulated me for my intrigue in 
making my escape, and in addition to 
the kind stranger's giving the desired 
information, he offered me his horse, 
which I declined ; but he insisted, and 
directing me towards his own domicile, 
he slowly plodded his way behind. 

In a few moments I arrived at his 
house, a neat, but grotesque mansion. 
He kindly invited me in, and prepara- 



tions were forthwith made for my cora- 
for . Tea was soon announced, when 
after being introduced to the female 
members of the family circle, I set ea- 
gerly to work administering to my cra- 
ving appetite, all the while giving in de- 
tail an account of my life amid the scenes 
of a savage and obdurate race. 

After my story was finished, they 
gave me several striking incidents, which 
had occurred in this same den of cru- 
elty and bloodshed, where others like 
myself, had been decoyed, and ditd the 
death of innocent captives. 

I paid breathless attention and great 
concern to the words of the good man, 
and could see the analogy to my own 
case. I would not infringe upon the 
liberality and patience of my host and 
hostess, but soon retired to my chamber 
and gave myself up to Him by whose 
divine will, I had been rescued from the 
grasp of the ungodly wretches. 

I arose early in the morning much 
rega'ed, and after breakfast I returned 
my heartfelt acknowledgments for the 
abundant kindness which had been so 
cheerfully showered on me, and pledg- 
ing myself to reciprocate it if ever an 
opportunity wasaffordedj took my leave 
of my benefactors, with some doubt 
whether or not I should ever again meet 
with such hospitality in the homestead 
of a stranger. The road leading to the 
home of my friend and relative, whence 
I had strayed, waa indicated, and I set 
out on my journey to find my anxious 

The road was very good, and the day 
exceedingly beautiful, I leisurely jogged 
along a distance of some fourteen miles 
•when I caught a glimpse of the stately 
edifice, where resided the solicitous and 
deeply concerned family. 

My return was greeted with visible 
signs of surprise and delight, for long 
since a close and earnest search bad 
been made to find some clue to my sin- 
gular and sudden departure, and had 
met with no success. 

Of course an account of my capture 
was detailed, and it became the common 
theme of the vicinity, the community 
at large were indignant at the state of 
things existing in their midst, and they 
began to take means of routing the 
brutal savages. 

The exasperated multitude would no 
longer tolerate such proceedings, but 
straightway a party of armed men set 
out to find the den of those enemies of 
peace, morality and virtue. A search 
of two days was made before we found 
the desired spot, but at length I beheld 
some marks which identified the place 
of my former confinement ; I commu- 
nicated the discovery to my comrades, 
and quietly we all dismounted and made 
to the den, with guns in hand, in the 
attitude of discharge. We bursted 
headlong into the cave, with high hope 
of making a deadly attack upon the 
robbers, but when we had forced our 
passage in, we were astounded to find it 
vacated and the band absconded with no 
sign left to designate their recent exit. 
Here we were hopeless of success with- 
out any encouragement for further ad- 
venture. As it was folly to consume 
our time in searching for them without 
the faintest hope of achieving our vic- 
tory, we repaired to our respective 
homes in despair. As to the time for 
my return to North Carolina was ap- 
proaching, I did not engage in any oth- 
er expedition to arrest the knaves, but 
in a few days I set out home, having 
been taught a lesson I shaU jiever 





" For much imaginary work was there, 
Gancet deceitful, so compact, so kind, 
That for Achille's image stood his spear 
Grasped in an armed hand ; himself behind, 
Was left unseen, save to the eye of mind." 

Lost — lost — lost ! The curse of God 
is looming over me ! Hell yawns wide 
to receive me. I am there, for ever 
and for ever. Hail horrors, hail. Shore- 
less, boundless, infinite ocean, take me 
on thy burning bosom. Ah ! accursed 
sons of humanity — ye come. Well 
done. Almighty God, sweep them all 
— here, here ; earth and its damned 
load. Lie there, ye wretches, I spurn 
you, I defy you : I will be king over 
you now. I will marshall the host of 
hell to increse your torment, to lash to 
seven-fold fury, the fiery Phlegethon, 
that enfolds you. How beautifully she 
tosses you, whirls you, dashes you on 
those sulphurous rocks : now the smoke 
of your torments ascend — now again 
she receives you in alternate rounds un- 
ceasingly, eternally. 

The storm raged fearfully, the night 
was dark, and these words came from 
that world of terror. Alone we heard 
them, and horror fell upon us. Away, 
away our spirit was borne on the wings 
of the tempest, the darkness became 
fearfully visible, shapes from the un- 
known world surround up, the realms of 
phantasy became painfully distinct, 
mad as the storm, the demons bound, 
and whirl, now here now there, with 

horrid antics, universal nature seemed 
in the last — the death struggle. But 
the words — the words are yet ringing 
in our ears, their magic called forth our 
soul from its earthly tenament — they 
were the words of a mortal. 

Man, lowest, highest of all God's 
works, the dust thy dwelling, the worm 
thy conqueror — time, space, eternity, 
thine. From her clayey habitation the 
soul views the past, the future, the 
viewless spheres, the height, the depth, 
the length and breaih of what is in a 
moment. In the world an atom, in an 
atom millions of worlds, in itself a mys- 
tery, and must it be so. Glorious, sub- 
time thought, that the knowledge of 
the soul is next to God the highest 
knowledge. Let the depraved under- 
stand it, and they will bound at the 
idea, leaving their grovelling pursuits. 
Let all know it, and the world will arise 
and shine forth in beauty — the beauty 
of the millennium. 

Sweet sounds fall upon our ears — 
listen : 

Legeia, Legeia, 

My beautiful one, 
Whose harshest idea, 

Will to melody run. 
Say, is it thy will 

On the breezes to toss, 



Or, capriciously still 

Like the lone albatross, 
Incumbent on night, 

As she on the air, 
To keep watch with delight 

On the harmony there. 

" That strain again, it bad a dying 
fall." And now we are in fairy land, im- 
ages of beauty float on a sea of love: tbeir 
harmony is music — their music is en- 
chanting. Cunfes't we stand enrapt by 
a mortal strain. It hath taken our 
spirit captive. Is this the demon that 
bore us to the regions of darkness and 
eternal night. Is this the voice that 
howled to the tempest, the hand spread 
the magic wand of destruction over all. 
Well he deserves the tribute of a pa«s- 
inc notice. Let us gaze at him for a 
moment as at a comet dashing madly 
through the sky, destroying worlds in 
its course, and leaving more beautiful 
ones as if in mockery. 

Common life is a tale of youth, of 
manhood, of love, of struggle— and the 
curtain drops on immortality. The tale 
bearer ushers his hero on the stage, fills 
his bosom with bright anticipations and 
love ; crushes, or disappoints, or fulfills 
them as the case may be. We give a 
smile or a tear to his labors and pass 
on. These are every day occurrence*, 
and we know them too well to be curi- 
ous about them. The philosopher starts 
from common phenomena, and builds 
his theories on general principles, and 
gives us the modes of existence here 
below, leading us from cause to effect, 
and from effect to cause, defining the 
limits of human knowledge, and judg- 
ing the probabilities of things. Here 
both would find themselves lost, out- 
side of their bounds, in the realms of 
transcendentalism. Here is one of their 

anomalies, we are about to intro- 

The romantic attend him into this 
world, and his whole mortal career is a 
truth stranger than fiction. The graces 
and the furies strangely met and com- 
bined in him. Young, beautiful and 
gifted, an orphan, he attracted the at- 
tention of a good man, and drew large- 
ly on his sympathy and support. No 
expense was spared for him, no ration- 
al desire left ungratified. At an early 
period he was sent to school, placed 
under the guardianship of the ablest 

He soon gave evidence of a high or- 
der of mind. In every study he was 
foremost, and some of his effusions, at 
that early time of his life, bids us cher- 
ish bright hopes for the future in rela- 
tion to him. In them we seem to be- 
hold a mind teeming only with beauti- 
ful images, an earnest aspiration for the 
loveliest idealism, a sighing for the isles 
of the blest. A heart fully alive to the 
tendered feelings of humanity, a soul 
enchanted with the glory that was. — 
The following, written when he was 
fourteen, may convey our ideas of him 
then, better than our own words — 

Helen, thy beauty is to me. 

Like those Nicean barks of yore, 
That gently o'er a perfumed sea, 

The weary, way-worn wanderer bore, 

To his own native shore. 

On desperate seas, long want to roam, 
Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, 

Thy Naiad airs have brought me home, 
To the glory that was Greece 

And the grandeur that was Rome. 

Lo, in yon brilliantwindowniche, 
How statue like I see thee stand ; 
The agate lamp within thy hand, 

Ah, Psyche from the regions which 
Are holy lands. 



After spending some years in Old 
England, whether the kindness and 
indulgence of his protector had sent 
him, he returned to Virginia, and gra- 
duated at the University, with the high- 
est honors. 

It is the custom of late writers to 
find some characteristics in the youth- 
ful lives of their heroes, even in their 
children, sometimes in an earlier period 
that shadows forth their future course. 
And he who is accustomed to read their 
productions closely can predict almost 
•with certainty, the castrophe or acme 
Df the plot. Their's is a synthetical 
system for the most part constructed 
mechanically. We, for once beg leave 

discard this method, knowing that it 
vill not answer our purpose. The truth 
4 before us, and whatever the inconsis- 
tencies that met us at almost every step 
if our progress we will endeavor to 
..resent it, pure and unadulterated. It 
jl said that college gives a coloring to 
ines future destiny. There may be 
ome truth in the observation, or it may 
;e that this period of life, is the turning 
:oint of ones existence, that now the 
solves of manhood take their form, 
ad go forth on the world to save or to 

1 College, who knows the import of 
tat simple word ? that charms our fu- 
>re life, that blooms on the border of the 
ave. Here love and friendship grow 
Id flourish to live eternally. Here no- 
8 resolves are formed — here we are 
itiated into a higher world— voices 

•m the spirit land sound in our ears 

3 unseea becomes a reality, and cold 
that heart, clouded is that soul who 
es not feel and see it. 
Here, too, the seeds of destruction 

are often sown, sown by a friendly hand, 
nurtured by the same until it brings' 
forth fruit unto death. Unlike the for- 
mer case the poor victim has no time 
to examine his situation, to consider his 
danger, to ponder over his wandering, 
unconsciously on the wings of excite- 
ment and social feelings he is carried 
not to the higher regions, but to the 
realms of death. Some dream, (as it 
were) away their college career, and 
their dreams are pleasant and inspiring. 
The true, the beautiful, and the good 
present themselves to their enraptured 
vision. Others dash madly along.— 
Oh, say not that they brood over evil 
deeds : it is ungenerous, it is false, it is 
contrary to the nature of youth. Ra- 
ther say that they embark on a stream, 
which is continually supplied from an- 
cient fountains ; they receives new im- 
petus constantly, until, alas, their ca- 
reer has grown so violent, that death 
alone can stop it. The more ardent 
the temperament, the more susceptible 
the heart, the more they are accelera- 
ted. Here, then, we would discover 
the germ of second naturethat was im- 
planted in the breast of our hero. 

It is a beautiful and affecting sight 
to witness the goodness of heart that 
provides for the poor, the needy orphan. 
E'er the wretched one is conscious of 
the benefits bestown on him. E'er he 
can discharge a grateful heart in words, 
or pour fourth his soul in streams of 
gratitude from his eyes he is the recipi- 
ent of such blessings as the good alone 
can give. Here is goodness of heart, 
the fruits of which are greater than a 
parent's love, and the obligation to re- 
quite it is proportionally greater. 
Under the protection of his kind be- 



nefactor, our hero flourished from child- 
hood to manhood, and now we find 
him on the threshold of active life with 
a highly gifted and well cultivated 
miud, bright harbingers of success ; a 
form and face calculated to win admi- 
ration, love and esteem. The beautiful 
symmetry, the deep intelligence, the al- 
most superhuman brightness that illu- 
minated his features bespoke a soul al- 
most angelic. And had he passed 
away in this halo, some future Byron 
might have stamped him with immor- 
tal beauty, too pure for this gross ele- 
ment of ours, and worthy of higher 
companionship. We almost regret that 
this early transformation had not taken 
place. It is so painful to strip the 
beautiful from an object, and disclose 
the most hideous deformities ; and it is 
so pleasant to let the mind dwell on pu- 
rity and loveliness, snatched away to 
brighter scenes. It is a link that binds 
the soul to the world of spirits, that 
gently draws it to lofty communings 
with the beautiful. 

A voice came over the sea, and call- 
ed our youthful hero away ; it was from 
Greece, suffering at this time under the 
oppressions of a cruel and barbarous 
foe. We can sympathize with him 
here, we can feel as he felt towards the 
descendants of the greatest heroes, po- 
ets, and philosophers that ever lived 
and ever will live as a monument of 
admiration and wonder to all succeed 
ing times. But why dwell on this sub 
ject, it lives in history, philosophy, po 
etry ; yea, it lives in our hearts, in our 
imagination, the dearest, the noblest. 
And oh! what a crowd of images 
comes o'er us, when we behold 
him — 

Reposing from the noon tide sultriness, 
Couched among fallen columns, in the shade, 
Of ruined walls that had survived the names 
Of those who reared them. 
Like him who penned that mournful strain. 

Let the world call this action of his j 
life by all the hard names they can in 
vent, to us it appears his " chef d'- | 
ouvre," the result of the noblest impul- 

But his aid in that quarter was vain, I 
and destitute and wandering he is found 
and assisted by one of his own country- 
men, and again he is in his native land, 
welcomed by his noble benefactor, and 
received into the bosom of affluence and I 

But he comes like the destroyer to 
blight the happiness of that heart that 
felt for his bereavement when a cold 
world heeded him not, to spread deso- 
lation over that garden in which he en- 
joyed the sweetest moments of his life ; 
worse than the arch-fiend to turn his 
own paradise into hell. Intent on dam- 1 
nable purposes he tried every art, he 
used every endeavor to destroy the do- 
mestic peace of his friend, to tempt the 
wife of his bosom ; and having failed, 
to ciown his damnable plot, and en- 
sure his hellish designs, he coined a 
lie, and boasted of having done what 
he most signally failed to perform. — 
God would not suffer such returns for 
deeds which are always acceptable to 
him, and the wretched ingrate suffered 
the penalty due his dark deeds. He is 
driven friendless on the world, with his 
guilt heavy upon him, and shall not 
the ghost of this evil deed haunt him 
over the earth through eternity. Re* 
pite may come, but it is only a momen 
tary glimpse of a sun which must re< 
main through life for him in clouds and 



larkness. The hand of a dark fate is 
ipon him. Oh ! that Ave could save 
ira. We find him next among those 
rho devote their lives to the service of 
lieir country ; but his was not the sol- 
ier's heart, and he is soon driven from 
lat place where bravery and straight- 
•>nvardness alone can be tolerated. — 
erhaps this would have been a suita- 
m school for our hero in his youthful 
;*ys, ere evil thought had entered and 
•ken deep root in his heart. But it 
j too late now, and we must follow 
jim through the masses again, and 
[>te his career. He is thrown on his 
m resources, and well might he say, 
f th the '' Old Mariner," 

' Alone— alone, all — all alone, 
I Alone on a wide, wide sea, 

And never a saint took pity on 

My soul in agony. 

The sensitive alone can feel in its ut- 
>»st intensity the import of these 
,rds. He felt it — felt it as never man 
5 ; it before ; and cursed man — aye 
,sed his God. No kindness— no 
3 apathy — no sacrifice could win his 
[e any more. Love is eternal, and 
iiss not consist in momentary yearn- 
ss — it has no intervals of an oppo- 
i nature, like hatred; and here we 
-jover the beneficence of Providence 
■< ch maketh our blessings of a per- 
cent character, and intersperses our 
actions with momentary gleams of 


i)ur hero is an author— an author of 
i first stamp, no middle flight de- 
is him — he soars aloft with mighty 
its. He essayed poetry— and his 
ins thrilled all who heard — they 
ie sometimes as if from the Orphean 
i — again as if from some mighty 

spirit lost. They attracted— they awa- 
kened dread. They who feared to love, 
respected him who made such unearth- 
ly music and some dared even to love 
him. His name is sounded every where 
and every where coupled with praises. 
He drank these in like water. Strange 
inconsistency, but such is man. But all 
this cannot preserve him from the paths, 
of degradation. He drinks deep from 
the poisonous bowl, and the deadly 
worm is gnawing his fine intellect. He 
is on the verge of despair, a prise is 
offered for the best composition on 
some subject. With that confidence 
which is one of the characteristics of 
genius he goes to work, and wins the 

He is caressed by the great — smiled 
on by the fair, and now our hero is in 
love. This will preserve him, saith the 
novelist. No— he seeks the drunkard's 
den, and drowns the sweet passion in 
the nauseous drug. He is thrown out 
in the streets, under a burning sun, he 
kels it not. The gentle being whose 
heart he had won passes by, and be- 
holds her lover in this sad plight. The 
heart of woman scorns all forms when 
its idol calls for sympathy. Before a 
gazing, and perhaps a mocking crowd, 
she alights — stoops over him like an 
angel over a departing spirit blest, and 
with her own hand covers that noble 
face. She saw it not in its disfigure- 
ment. She only remembers it as it 
beamed on her from a soul lofty with 
intelligence, expressive with love. He 
awakes and knows it all. Shall he not 
return from the error of his ways ? — 
Aye, for a short season until he is ele- 
vated once more and what comes next 
— a promise — a fulfillment. The bride- 



groom coineth like a demon from hell ; 
furious — raving, and the spell is bro- 
ken. How could the wretch outlive 
this requital ! How could he thus sport 
with a noble heart ! Let the dissecters 
of human nature answer — while we 
pass on to the next act in our hero's 
life drama. 

An author again, under the patron- 
age of a worthy man, and reaping lau- 
rels in every quarter, and just as all 
things seemed to work together for 
good, the demon entered him once 
more, and he attempts to ruin his pat- 
ron. Errors of the heart may be for- 
given and pitied ; but the soul revolts 
at such as these ; there is no place for 
sympathy with them. His literary ca- 
reer is full of them. There was no 
meanness too mean for him. The soul 
becomes sick at contemplating him, 
and wishes to move on to some sunny 
spot where it can reat for a moment. 

But around the close of his life hangs 
a scene worthy of Godlike genius. A 
scene which presents him as we would 
wish him to appear. It is said that 
some one threw flowers on Nero's grave, 
then we believe him still human. We 
find the seeds of humanity not yet dead 
in our hero. In his last sad moments 

when helpless he lay on a bed of sick 
ncss we find him administered to bj 
the angel care of woman ; it was hi 
wife. In poverty she soothed his dyins 
pillow until she sank under her faith; 
fulness. But he is not yet forsakei] 
The mother takes the place of the child 
Winter after winter [says a writer] thj 
most touching sight to us in the whol 
city has been that tireless minister t 
genius, thinly and insufficiently clac 
going from office to office with a poen, 
or an article on some literary subject t 
sell ; sometimes pleading in a broke, 
voice that he was ill, and begging fq 
him ; mentioning nothing but that h, 
was ill, whatever might be the reason fc 
his writing nothing, and never amid a\ 
her tears and recitals of distress, sufferin 
one syllable to escape her lips th$ 
could convey a doubt of him or a con 
plaint, or p lessening of pride in his gi 
niu* and good intentions. 

If woman's devotion, born with 
first love, and fed with human passioj 
hallow its object, as it is allowed to d 
what does not a devotion like this, pui 
disinterested and holy as the watch 
an invisible spirit, say for him who ii 
spired it. 


On the western coast of Africa, north 
of the Gulf of Guinea, lies a region of 
country, which presents to the Christian 
philanthropist as remarkable and inter- 
esting an appearance as any other spot 
on the earth's surface. 

Here no rugged Andes lift their 
snow-clad tops to heaven, a lofty land- 

mark to the weary navigator, far o 
upon the ocean ; no Amazon pours i 
mighty torrents to the Main ; but 
long line of low sandy beach, stretch 
away north and south as far as the ej 
can reach, varied only by some rocl 
promontory, or the mouth of some smf 
river which, like the Simois, runs rapi 



down to mother Thitis, to escape the 
'irning heats of the interior. 

On this coast, apparently uninviting, 
young republic is just budding into 
istence, peopled by a race whose fore- 
:hers were torn, perhaps, froni that 
j <ry spot, and sold into helpless, hope- 
's bondage, beyond the Atlantic. 
( For the last three centuries, this un- 
ppy land has been desolated by the 
-)st hateful, inhuman of traffics, the 
'ive trade. The white man, to satis- 
his own ungodly cupidity, excites the 
"ive tribes to war, buys the prisoners, 
lj l huddling them together by hun- 
*ds upon decks, where a man of mid- 

^ stature, can seaicely sit upright, 
f i sail fur the New World. The 
'itched slaves undergo extremes of 
Bering on the voyage, which have 
'de the " middle passage," a proverb 
loorror. " If," says a writer, " there 
r was anything on earth, which foi- 
sting, filthy, heartless atrocity, 
'ht make the devil wonder, and hell 
>gnize its own likeness, it may be 

upon the deck of a slaver." 

>ut He, to whom belongs the earth 

the fullness thereof, is causing all 

■gs to work together for good, and j 

ing even the wrath and wickedness 

nan to praise Him. The negro is 

ning to his native land, to build 

i the shores of savage Africa the 

pie of the Lord, and set up the 

i of the New Jerusalem. He is 

jing to that benighted continent, 

•lessings of civilization and christi- 

. He is to counteract the mighty 

which the Whites have inflicted 

his race, and to show to the 

I that man, yea, even the despised 

', is capable of self-government. 

His position in Liberia, is far differ- 
ent from that which he occupied in the 
United States. Here he is born under 
the contagious atmosphere of slavery, 
and branded from his infancy with its 
withering, damning curse. Here he 
enjoys no civil rights, even in those 
States that prate so loudly about the 
cruel tyranny of the south. With 
shame and confusi< n of face, we are for- 
ced to admit that even in the nineteenth 
century, in the age that is never tired 
of boasting of its own gigantic pro- 
gress ; in the country that is everlast- 
ingly proclaiming itself " the land of 
the free, and the home of the brave," 
thousands of human beings are kept in 
heathenish ignorance, by legislative en- 

But carry the negro to Liberia, and 
how wonderful is the change. He is 
no longer trampled beneath the feet of 
a predominant caste, who proudly 
style themselves a superior order of be- 
ing ; he is a freeman, upon his native 
soil, with full scope for the develope- 
ment of his intellectual and moral na- 
ture. He can exercise all the rights of 
citizenship and must no longer be legis- 
lated for by would-be philanthropists, 
who only " make him ten fold more a 
child of Hell, than themselves." 

It would be folly, however, to sup- 
pose that the political horizon of Libe- 
ria, will be entirely unclouded. The 
aspiring politician, the selfish, unscru- 
pulous, office-seeking demagogue, will 
arise there as in other countries, not be- 
cause the Liberians are negroes, but be- 
cause they are men, subject to all the 
infirmities of human nature. 

Can we expect a body of men who 
have been in mental, moral, and physi- 


cal bondage for several hundred years, 
to construct, in a moment, a better go- 
vernment than those which have been 
maturing for centuries. We are told in 
scripture that, " a nation shall be born 
in a day ;" but we cannot, therefore, 
conclude that it will grow to its full 
strength and proportions, like Aladin's 
palace, in a single night. 

We do not hesitate to pronounce the 
great experiment of a free negro go- 
vernment, thus far successful ; and we 
believe its establishment to be a glori- 
ous era in African history. But though 
there should be many failures, let not 
the philanthropist despair. Let him 
not expect to introduce, all at once, 
peace, order, and industry, into a coun- 
try, where, forages every man has been 
obliged to fight for the freedom of his 
person ; where might has been the 
only right, and the slave-trade the only 
organized traffic. If the whole African 
race, south of the great Desert, were 
swept from the face of the earth, there 
would not be left a single monument, 
to tell us that such a race had ever ex- 
isted. There would be no Pyramids, 
no Sphynx, no Pompey's pilla , or Cle- 
opatra's needle ; no splendid ruins of 
cities and palaces. 

Central and Southern Africa have 
never been visited by the sculptor's 
chisel, or the poets pen. The rude 
hut of the Hottentot is the highest 
style of architecture known throughout 
this vast region. The influence of the 
white man, everywhere else so benefici- 
al, has acted here only like the deadly 
exhalations of the Upas tree. 

The civilization of such a country 
must be the work of years. The stu- 

pendous work, however, has been be- 
gun, and begun successfully. The 
slave-trade has been forever banished 
from six hundred miles of African 
coast. Many native tribes, aAved by 
the moral superiority of Liberia, have 
placed themselves under the protection 
of the republic. 

Liberia, moreover, all the 
elements of prosperity. A soil of un- 
surpassed fertility, pioducing in abun- 
dance all the great staples of the tem- 
perate and torrid zones, cultivated by 
an industrious people, in a climate won- 
derfully adapted to their peculiar con- 
stitution, cannot fail to afford extensive 
exports. Her bound! ss forests furnish 
inexhaustible supplies of the best dye- 
stuffs in the world. Her mineral res- 
ources areequal^if not superior to those' 
of other lands. She occupies a centra; 
position which will make her commerce 
an object of competition to the Greal 
powers, and pour their wealth into hei 

We confidently believe that beforf 
the lapse of another century, Liberh 
will have taken her place among thf 1 
nations of the earth. By her instru 
mentality the slave-trade will be foreve' 
crushed. From her bosom shall gi 
forth the missionary of the cross, unde 
whose heavenly influence, "Ethiopii 
will soon stretch out her hands unt 
God." Thus another link shall be ad 
ded to the chain that binds the foot 
stool of the Creator to his throne.— 
Thus shall the Son " receive the hea 
then for his inheritance, and the uttek 
most parts of the,earth for his posses 




In .the midst of the burning sands of 
an Eastern desert, there is a verdant 
spot, where a little stream wells bub- 
bling from among the rocks, and mean- 
ders along between surrounding hills, 
whose rugged sides enclose a fertile val- 
ley. Here upon these beautiful plains 
the eye of the traveller delights to dwell 
after having gazed with tortured vision 
upon the dreary sun-scorched wastes 
stretching far away upon every side. — 
But he finds the ground strewn with 
mournful relics of a people once mighty 
[and highly civilized. He sees the ruins 
;of splendid temples, fallen columns ana 
idecayed arches of colossal size and 
height. Let us roll back the billowy 
.tide of time, and gaze upon this spot as 
it was many cemuries ago. A mighty 
,oity stands upon it, the hum of busy 
voices may be heard along its crowded 
streets, the roll of many gorgeous cha- 
riots breaks upon the ear and the marble 
' Vonts of splendid palaces dazzle the sight 
>f the beholder. But what has caused 
his great city to rise in power and 
inagnificence in the midst of these 
icorching plains? What has brought 
obis busy multitude to this isolated val- 

m ? It was the all-powerful hand of 

commerce, which ever has and ever 

jhall wield a mighty influence in the 

-Iffairs of men, clearing away the dense 

surest and raising the noisy workshop 

/here its proud monarchs reared their 

)fty heads, and studding with white 

n!s the blue expanse of the ocean. For 

sis little stream and fertile valley af- 

jrded rest and sustenance to the many 

'eary caravans plodding their way 

across the desert in every direction, and 
here sprang up the emporium of a great 
trade. The storehouse of the merchant 
and the workshop of the artizan were 
built upon its grassy plains, and the 
queenly city of Palmyra, with its gorge- 
ous palaces and thronged streets arose 
as if by magic. Here sprung up that 
mighty empire that under Odenatus 
and Zenobia for a time successfully re- 
sisted the invincible legious of the Ro- 
man and rivalled in power and splendor 
the mistress of the world. But the 
flow of commerce was diverted into 
other channels, the influence of decay 
was felt, the proud and haughty Pal- 
myrene at last gave way before the stern 
Italian,and her chivalrous soldiery yield- 
ed to the irresistable veterans who had 
conquered the mightiest empires of the 
world. The Roman eagles flased across 
her fertile plains, the Roman soldiers 
revelled in her marble palaces, and 
" Palmyra central in the desert fell." — 
This government which occupied a 
place near the apex of the pyramid of 
splendid empires of antiquity has crum- 
bled away to nothing. Her great queen 
the haughty Zenobia in chains of gold 
adorned with pearls and precious stones, 
graced the triumph of the stern Aure- 
lian. Her marble columns now lie 
mouldering in the dust, the owl hoots 
mournfully among her decayed arches, 
and the Arab wanders listlessly where 
once her dense population surged along. 
The mighty empire has passed away 
leaving mournful relics of her former 
greatness to attract the curious travel- 
ler, but the little stream still bubbles 
up fresh and clear as ever and flows 
rippling o'er its grassy bed an everlast- 
ing monument of the frai]ity of man's 
greatest works. " J. 



The month of " showers, of sunshine, 
and flowers," has just glided by, and ere 
this reaches our readers, the golden hours 
of the " delicate-footed May," will have 
floated like " leaves upon a silver tide," 
down into the forgetfulness of the past. — 
During this season, we always are prone 
to dream, to build air-castles — we pre- 
fer reading now to writing — walking lei- 
surly about to reading, and above all, do 
we love to repose 

"Beneath the umbrage deep 

That shades the silent world of memory." 

We, I mean our class, "most potent, 
grave and reverend seniors" are, at pre- 
sent, endowed with certain unalienable 
rights, among many others, the pursuit of 
happiness — and to the full extent do we 
appreciate the saying of Sancho, " Bles- 
sed be the man that invented sleep, it 
wraps a man up like a blanket." We 
would not have the world believe that we 
do naught else, but snore away our pre- 
cious time. Far from it. " From the 
fullness of the heart the mouth speaketh," 
and the glorious privilege of taking an 
evening nap with none to " molest or 
make us afraid," without a call to study 
from the silvery tones that " so musically 
well" from the old belfry, does so fill up 
our cup of bliss, that we cannot refrain 
from making honorable mention of the 

Breaking abruptly off from this topic, 
we turn our attention to an event, that al- 
ways happens in May — one never devoid 
of thrilling interest to college — especially 
to tho,se who are, of necessity, actors — 
we allude to " Senior speaking," as it is 
called with us. It passed off with satis- 

faction to all concerned. It made up a 
gala day for college. With an audience 
of wisdom and taste, and beauty, " the 
most peerless pieces of earth the sun ever 
shone on," eloquent with, the mantling 
smiles of encouragement, also the hopes 
of Diploma before us ; music, too, that 
" screwed our courage to the sticking 
point," with all these the orators acted 
well their parts. Mow well,'modesty for- 
bids us to say. However, pardon us, if 
there be an impropriety in stating that 
the compliments of Gov. Swain were re- 
ceived with applause, and considered nei- 
ther extravagant or unjust, by the audi- 

We give a list of the topics, and the 
names of the orators — 
Florida — Richard B. Bellamy, of Flo- 
Match Making — Alexander D. Betts, of 

Harnett County. 
Final Triumphs of Mind — N, 

den. of Salisbury. 
Preadamite Earth — Henry M, 

of South Carolina. 
Not all that heralds rake from coffin'd clay, 
Nor florid prose, nor honied lies of rhyme, 
Can blazon evil deeds or consecrate a crime. 
James Campbell, of Harnett County. 
Richard Caswell — Robert A. Carrigan, of 

The Chief End of Man— James H. Col- 
ton, of Ashboro.' 
College Education Defective — Mathew S. 

Davis, of Warren Co. 
Influence of the Bible — James W. Ew- 

ing, of Mongomery Co. 
Which Way ? — Edmund J. Gaines, of 

Montgomery Co. 

Materials for American Literature — 

James R. Gatlin, of Gates Co. 

A. Boy- 


Palestine and the Jews — Edward W. Gil- 
liam, of Fayetteville. 
Slave Labor — William W. Glover, of Ro- 
beson Co. 

The Prosaic of College Life — Thomas B. 

Graham, of Miss. 
True Eloquence — Willis L. Green, of 

Tennessee — James Hadley, of Tenn. 
The Sailor's Destiny— Wm. H. Hall, of 

Agriculture — Atherton B. Hill, of Scot- 
All that is Bright must Fade — John R. 

Hogan, of Chapel Hill. 
The Scholar's Inheritance — Joseph H. 

Hyman, of Tarboro. 
Man, How like a Qod — Alfred B. Irion, 

of La. 
The Well being of Man — Robt, E. James, 

of So. Ca. 
Oppressed Religion — Wm. Gaston Lewis, 

of Chapel Hill. 
Music — Its Eminent Composers not Duly 
Appreciated — William J. Love, of Wil- 
Thucydides, the Athenian — Daniel Mc- 

Dougald, of Harnett Co. 
The Destiny of the South — Calvin A. 

McEachin, of Robeson. 
The Real and Ideal — Evander J. Mclver, 

of Moore Co. 
The Conquests of Mind — Henry W. Mc- 
Millan, of Robeson Co. 
National Calamities produce Or eat Men 

— Duncan E. McNair, of Robeson Co. 
f?» What does the Security of our Insti- 
tutions Depend ? — Rory McNair, of Ro- 
beson Co. 
The Patriotic Statesman — Hector J. Mc- 
Neill, of Robson Co. 
The Cotton Gin — Wm. J. Montgomery, 

of Montgomery. 
The Politician — Hunter Nicholson, of 

Woman's Rights — James Park, of Ten- 

To-Day — Malloy Nathan Patterson, of 

Richmond Co. 
The Eloquence of Decay — Gideon J. Pil- 
low, Jr., of Tenn. 
Italy — Edward H. Plummer, of War- 
The Love of Fame : The Scholar's Foe — 

John M. Puttick, of Raleigh. 
To Reign is Worth Ambition, though in, 
Hell— Peter P. Scales, of Henry Co., 

The Anglo Saxon Race — Jeremiah Slade, 

of Martin Co. 
The Physical Universe — Burton Smith, of 

Tlie Medical Profession — Jas. M. Smith, 

of Anson Co. 
The Difficulties of Appreciating History 

—Peter E. Spruill, of Oxford. 
Know Thyself — Marcus C. Thomas, of 

The Useful and the Beautiful — Richard 

A. Torrence, of Mecklenburg Co. 
Architectural Monuments — Jas. N. Tur- 
ner, of Harnett Co. 
What are the Signs of the Times ? — Sa- 
muel P. Watters, of Wilmington. 
Tlie Misieries of Genius — Jesse K. Whar- 
ton, of Greensboro. 
Merry England — Charles Whitaker, of 

Tlie Fall of Babylon — James R. Whit- 
field, of Ala. 
Popular Delusions — Thos. D. Williams, 

of Warrenton. 

The Sublimity of Mystery — Charlton W. 

Yell owl ey. 

When, or by whom, the following ser- 
mon was preached we know not. We 
suppose it answered the purpose intend- 
ed. It runs thus : 

My text is Malt. I cannot divide it 
into sentences, there being none ; nor 
into words, there being but one. I must, 
therefore, of necessity, divide it into let- 
ters, which I find in my text, to be these 
four— M. A. L. T. M. is Moral, A. is Al- 



legorical, Z. is Literal, T. is Theological. 
The moral is to teach you rustics good 
manners ; therefore, My masters, -411 of 
you, Zeave off, Tippling. The Allegori- 
cal is when one thing is spoken of and 
another is ment. The thing spoken of is 
Mult. The thing meant, is the spirit of 
Malt, which you make your J/eat, Appar- 
el, Ziberty and Trust. The Literal is ac- 
cording to the letters ifuch, Ale, Zittle 
Trust. The Theological, is according to 
the effects of its works : i¥urder, Adul- 
tery, Zooseness of life and Treachery. 

I shall conclude the subject, first, by 
way of exhortation : My hearers, -411 of 
you, Zisten To my text. Second, by way 
of caution : My hearers, AW of you, Zook 
lor The truth. Third, by way of commu- 
nicating the truth. A drunkard is the 
annoyance of modesty, the spoil of civili- 
ty, the destruction of reason, the robber's 
agent, the alehouse's benefactor, his wife's 
sorrow, his children's trouble, his own 
shame, his neighbor's scoff, a walking 
swill-bowl, the picture of a beast, the 
monster of a man. 

We know of no place in which the 
adoption and practice of the above would 
be of more benefit to individuals and the 
public at large, than in this. 

President Jefferson, in a letter of advice 
to his namesake, T. J. Smith, in 1825, 
gave the following rules for practical life. 
They are well worthy the consideration of 
all men — 

1. Never put off till to-morrow what 
you can do to-day. 

2. Never trouble others for what you 
can do yourself. 

3. Never spend your money before you 
have it. 

4. Never buy what you do not want, 
because it is cheap. 

5. Pride costs us more than hunger, 
thirst and cold. 

6. We never repent of having eaten too 

7. Nothing is troublesome that we do 

8. How much pain have those evils cost 
us, which never happened. 

9. When angry, count ten before you 
speak. When very angry, one hun- 

The Baptist church, recently erected in 
this place, was dedicated on the 6th inst. 
Rev. Mr. James, delivered a sermon. An 
immense concourse was present 

While sauntering leisurely along the 
streets a few days ago, our attention was 
suddenly arrested by some one whistling 
very musically, and peculiarly sweet. — 
Great was our surprise when we discover- 
ed the person thus enchanting us, to be 
of the feminine gender. We presume she 
is unacquainted with the old proverb 

" Whistling girls and crowing hens, 
Never comes to no good^ends." 

Signs of Rain. — Address by Dr. Jen- 
ner, (the celebrated discoverer of vaccina- 
tion)to a lady who asked him if he thought 
it would rain to-morrow. 

The lines below are so faithfully de- 
scriptive of nature that while reading 
them we unconsciously look out at our 
window to see the rising thunder storm 
"casting its shadows before," — 

The hollow winds begin to blow, 
The clouds look black, the glass is low, 
The soot falls down, the spaniels sleep, 
And spiders from their cobwebs creep, 
Last night the sun went pale to bed, 
The moon in halos hid her head, 
The boding shepherd heaves a sigh, 
For see a rainbow spans the sky, 
The walls are damp, the ditches smell, 
Closed is the pink-eyed pimpernel, 
The squalid toads at dusk were seen, 
Slowly crawling o'er the green, 
Loud quack the ducks, the peacocks cry, 
The distant hills are looking nigh, 
Hark how the chairs and tables crack, 
Old Betty's joints are on the rack, 



And see yon rooks how odd their flight, 
They imitate the gliding Kite, 
Or seem precipitate to fall, 
As if they felt the piercing ball, 
How restless are the snorting swine, 
The busy flies disturb the Kine, 
Low o'er the erass the swallow wings, 
The cricket too how loud she sings, 
Puss on the hearth with velvet paws, 
Sits wiping o'er her whiskered jaws, 
'Twill surely rain I see with sorrow. 

College Lays. — I have often thought 
that one of the particular causes of the 
great beauty of music is that it can be 
translated into all the feelings and affec- 
tions of the mind. No feeling so lofty — no 
spirit so humble — no hope so cheering — 
no despair so blasting but finds its echo 
in the regions of song, and it is not a lit- 
tle strange what a host of feelings and af- 
fections mingle with the sounds of even 
one song. For example — let the sound 
of a sweet, pathetic, yet simple air be 
sung by a soft richly modulated voice 
and its entrance into the ear, brings to 
the mind a thronging troop of pleasant or 
perhaps melancholy associations — often 
awaking feelings that have reposed for 
years or arousing the half buried thoughts 
of former times. 

Thus in a reminiscence of College life, 
thoughts at times, linger on the sweet 
mellow lays that have cheered the stu- 
dent's otherwise monotonous pathway — 
lays though simple, even child-like in 
their nature, yet ladened with associa- 
tions sufficient to win a welcome to the 
mind's fire-side — which take us by the 
hand and lead us back to kind friends 
and pleasant associates, to College dwel- 
lings lighted up for study, to the sound 
of merry voices — to the moonlight seren- 
ade borne on the evening breeze. Ima- 
gine yourself on the far-famed hill of 
classical memory. The dingy buildings 
loom up around "East," "West" and 
South crammed with those "desperate 
cases " of whom you have heard so many 

1 — s. There the old bell reminds you of 
the flight of time, while the Chapel morn- 
ing and evening is crowded with those, 
" for whom prayer is wont to be made." 
While from the rising of the sun to the 
going down of the same and often later 
the " in loco parentes " watch for the 
boys ; as for those who must give an ac- 
count. Yet notwithstanding such seem- 
ing cares, when nature is wrapped in the 
sable garb of night forth from cheerful 
seclusions come the sweet sounds of mu- 
sic. Hush, you catch the words, a tale of 
sadness mournful to the soul — it is of 
"Three blind mice." 

By what means they became blind the 
■world knows not — perhaps a binding vow 
of the parents or some strange freak of 
dame nature, perhaps in their juvenile 
days some rude fierce " Philistine dam- 
sel " had pierced their innocent eyes with 
a bodkin and then laughed with fiendish 
glee as they writhed beneath the pain or 
perhaps some bold enemy had captivated 
the trio and after inflicting this punish- 
ment, had placed them at the mercy of 
the pitiless storm. All this however is 
mere conjecture — but suffice it to say to 
this day perhaps no living person can 
give an. authentic account. And now call 
to mind the moving, oh ! bloodiest picture 
in the book of time ! Think of three poor 
helpless blind mice, no eye to pity, no 
arm to save. How often must they have 
grieved in sad silence, how often had they 
recounted their misfortunes and sighed 
over their deprivations, what visions of 
cheeses, apples, cakes and candies, nuts 
and raisins must have passed by unheed- 
ed, what perils too they must have escap- 
ed. True a Prior has beautifully describ- 
ed the perturbations of a country mouse, 
but it could see — a Burns too has immor- 
talized a field mouse merely because it 
had lost its house — but what is this to 
the loss of both eyes, and life, ah-Burns 
and Prior ne'er saw sight like these. And 
if you have one spark of sympathy it must 



kindle into a flame when your friends 
chant the fate of the three unfortunate 

But let us turn to another of those gen- 
tle lays by which the student so often be- 
guiles the lonely hours and here I cannot 
but feel I touch a point where the feel- 
ings of all must centre. I speak of that 
passing pathetic little song, so long 
a favorite with every one who hears it. — 
And now by way of prelude let me ask 
you, have you ever lost a friend ! Have 
you ever felt when the cold clod harshly 
rattled on the coffin, that almost a part of 
yourself was sealed up forever ? Has the 
bitter conviction never forced itself upon 
you that now and forever you are alone ? 
If so you can imagine what must have been 
the effect in the silence of the saintly 
summer night, strengthened by the blend- 
ing of moon light, and dream light each 
pouring in their tribute of feelings, of the 
scene described in the touching lay : 

'Twas a calm still night, 
And the moon's pale light, &c. 

Words can hardly convey a clearer ma- 
nifestation of heartfelt pathos, so plain, 
so simple, so eloquent, the " calm night," 
the pale moon-beams, all nature hushed 
in repose, its machinery seems to pause, 
the twinkling stars peep through the then 
intervening clouds. How consonant is 
everything with the feelings of those 
friends who stand around the death bed 
of " Poor Lilly Dale." 

" Her cheek that once glowed with the rose-tint 

of health, 
By the hand ef disease has turned pale, 
And the death damp is on the pale white brow, 
Of my poor, lost Lilly Dale " 

Glance in imagination, at the pale image 
before you. It moves not — it speaks not 
— no voice of kindness to lighten the mo- 
ther's heavy-stricken heart. A smile of 
etherial joy, wreaths those mute lips, an 
expression of celestial beauty plays on 
that serene countenance, 

" I go," she says, " to the land of rest, 

How meek, how gentle, how angelic — 
too pure, too lovely far for earth. 

The wild rose may blossom and droop, 
the rippling brook may dance joyously 
by, the birds warble their sweetest songs, 
but fair Lilly's voice shall join them ne- 
ver more. But there is a place far through 
the " etherial blue," where sickness and 
sorrow can never come ; and there shall 
Lilly dwell forever and ever. 

The " charm of our climate" is said 
" to be its variety," and " variety" is said 
" to be the spice of life." 

All agree that both these sayings are 
true, but 'if we had the control of our 
"carte du jour." We would not now 
have this cold, chilly weather, which is 
unseasoned — a little spice would certainly 
render it more palatable. How singular- 
ly changeable has been the weather this 
spring. A few weeks back, like Falstaff, 
we were " men of continual dissolution 
and thaw," " as subject to heat as butter," 
and we suffered from the heat, greatly, 
but now it is quite different — a " warm 
crackling fire," is certainly very pleasant. 
We know very little of farming, but we 
think that such weather is unpropitious 
to the crops now in the ground, and those 
which have just come up. 

The following is the auto-biography of 
the celebrated Count Rostopchin, who is 
so well known as the Governor of Mos- 
cow, in 1812, and to whom its conflagra- 
tion has always been attributed. It was 
written in ten minutes, at the request of a 
lady : 

Memoirs of Myself to the Life, Written 
in Ten Minutes. 


In 1765, March 12th, I came from darkness 
into light. 1 was measured, weighed and 
baptised. I was born without knowing why, 
and my parents thanked Heaven without know- 
ing why. 




I was taught in all sorts of things, and every 
language. By being impudent and deceitful, 
I sometimes passed for a scholar. My head 
became a library of old books, of which I hare 
kept the key. 


I was tormented by masters, by tailors, by 
women, by ambition, by self-love, by vain re- 
grets, by sovereigns and souvenirs. 


I have been deprived of three great enjoy- 
ments of the human race : robbery, gluttony 
and pride. 


At thirty years, renounced dancing ; at forty, 
the fair sex ; at fifty, public opinion ; at sixty, 
thinking, and I am now a true philosopher, or 
egotist, which is synonymous. 


I was obstinale as a .mule, capricious as a co- 
quette, gay as a child, idle as a mole, active as 
Bonaparte, and everything at pleasure. 


Having never been able to control my coun- 
tenance, I gave loose to my tongne, and con- 
tracted the bad habit of thinking aloud. — 
That procured me some joys, and many ene- 


I was sensitive to friendship, to confidence, 
and had I lived in the gulden age, might have 
been, perhaps, in every respect, a good man. 


I have never been implicated in any marri- 
age, nor in any gossipping. I have never re- 
commended a cook or a physician, consequent- 
ly I have attempted nobody's life. 


I love small parties— a walk in the woods. — 
I had an involuntary veneration for the sun, and 
his setting often saddened me. 1 preferred 
blue, in colors ; in eating, beef with horse rad- 
ish ; in drinking, fresh water ; in plays the co- 
medy and farce ; in men and women, open and 
expansive countenances. The humpbacked of 
both had a charm for me — why, I never have 
been able to understand. 


I had an aversion to fools, to scoundrels, to 
intriguing women who made sport of virtue ; 
a disgust for affectation ; pity for painted men 
and women ; an aversion to rats, liquors, meta- 

physics and rhubarb, and fear of justice and 
mad beasts. 


I await death without apprehension as with- 
out impatience. My life has been a melodra- 
ma on a great stage, where I have been playing 
the hero, the tyrant, the lover, the noble father 
but never the valet. 


My great happiness is in being independent 
of the three individuals who govern Europe; as 
I am rich enough, have given up business, and 
am wholly indifferent to music, I have conse- 
quently no sympathy with Rothschild, Metter- 
nich, and Rossini. 


Here lies in repose, with a worn-out mind, 
an exhausted heart, and a used-up body, a wick- 
ed old devil. 

Ladies and gentlemen pass on. 


, Dog of a public ! discordant organ of the 
passions ! thou who raisest thyself to heaven, 
or plowest into the mud ; who blamest and ca- 
lumniatest, thou knowest not why ; thou ab- 
surd tyrant escaped Bedlam ; thou extract of 
the most deadly venom and of the mildest aro- 
matics; thou representative of the devil near 
the human race ; thou farce, masked with 
christian charity ; thou, public that 1 feared in 
my youth, respected in mature years, and des- 
pised in my old age — it is to thee 1 dedicated 
my memoirs. Dear public ! at last, 1 am out 
of thy reach, for 1 am dead, and consequently 
deaf, dumb, and blind. Enjoy, if thou canst, 
these advantages for thy own repose and that of 
the human race." 

Commencement. — June 7th ! Perhaps 
at no time since the foundation of the In- 
stitution have the prospects of a glorious 
— brilliant Commencement been more 
cheering. To the public generally we ex- 
tend a welcome. Every provision that 
can possibly conduce to the well-being 
and comfort of visitors has been made. 

To those who are fond of literary treats 
— to those who are foolishly fond of "trip- 
ping the light fantastic toe," to those who 
wish to satisfy an idle curiosity, to those 
who are delighted to drink the strains of 



youthful eloquence — to all, we say come, 
enter into the joys prepared for you, 
•'come one, come all!" 

"We have received the May number of 
the Carolina Cultivator, an Agricultural 
Journal, published at Raleigh, by W. D. 
Cooke. It is far superior to anything of 
the kind we have seen in N. C, and does 
indeed deserve, and we hope, will receive 
a liberal patronage from Southern farm- 
ers, especially North Carolinians. Price, 
$1.00 in advance. 

We have also received the Kaleidoscope 
edited by Mrs. Hicks, Petersburg, Va., 
devoted to ' Literature, Temperance and 
Education.' She is about commencing a 
Novellette, called the 'Model Virginian,' 
upon which she expects to stake her 
hopes of immortalit} 7 . 

From the general appreciation in which 
gentlemen are held by the ladies we may 
expect something perfect (?) in the 'Mo- 
del.' (The most modest one of us is the 
author of the query.) 

" Ourselves." — This being the last 
number of "the University Magazine," 
which is to be published by the present 
corps, the egotistical title of this para- 
graph may be excused. According to 
the rule of mutation — change which is 
stamped upon every created object — ere 
the June number shall have issued from 
the Press our Editorial garments will 
have fallen upon others doubtless more 
worthy : Messrs. H. R. Bryan, J. B. Kil- 
lebrew and J. A. McQueen, of the Philan- 
thropic ; C. Dowd, A. H. Merritt, and C. 
Sessions, of the Dialectic Society. With 
willingness do we transmit our little 
charge to their safe keeping, believing 
them worthy of the trust and most earn- 
estly do we bespeak for them even a great- 
er share of public favor than that with 
which we have been honored. 

And here it would not probably be 
amiss to state a few facts in regard to our 

internal policy. We considering every 
thing have been as successful in getting 
subscribers, as we had a right to expect, 
but the mere subscribing to a periodical 
without paying for it, is a sustenance not 
quite substantial enough in its qualities 
to insure a vigorous growth and a strong 
manhood. We must have money or our 
Magazine will fail before another year ex- 
pires ! ! One thousand dollars is more 
than enough to publish the Magazine, and 
although our subscription list amounts to 
nearly fifteen hundred still for the want 
of funds we retire from office sadly in 
debt. The difficulty appears to be this. 
Most of our individual subscribers take 
one copy each, a few take two, whilst 
those who take three or more are very 
scarce. It is hardly fair for us then to 
expect that persons should attach so much 
importance to two, four or six dollars as to 
recollect the exact time when their year is 
out and make their payments according- 
ly. But they ought to recollect that two 
dollars though in ordinary cases of but lit- 
tle importance to them, yet helps to 
constitute the vitality of the Magazine. 
To remedy this evil, we have therefore 
given the list to Mr. Cooke, Raleigh, who 
is soon to send around an agent. We 
earnestly hope that after these facts are 
presented, no one will wait until the 
agent duns him, but will send his dues 
whatever they are immediately to W. 
D. Cooke, publisher " Univ. Mag.," Ra- 
leigh, N. C. 

Philanthropic Hall, ) 
June 1, 1855. j 

God, moving in his own mysterious way to 
woik the hidden purposes of his wisdom has star- 
tled us with a sore visitation. Death has been 
among us ; one who lately mingled with us as 
a fellow and friend, whose purity and virtue had 
escaped the polluting influence of vice, whose 
feelings and affections had not yet been blunted 
by contact with the world, has been called to 
his long home. Regard for the deceased 
prompts us to unite with our sister Society in 
discharging the last duty to his lamented dust. 



Resolved, That while we bow with humility 
and resignation to the decree of the Eternal, 
w'-iich has removed John A. Smith from time 
to eternity thereby reminding us that we are 
but dust, we deeply deplore the fate by which 
so much purity, so much promise and so many 
hopes have been blighted in an early" grave. 

Resolved, That in our sorrow we are consol- 
ed by the abiding trust, that our loss has been 
his eternal gain, and that we will ever cherish 
fondly the memory of his virtues. 

Resolved, That we deeply sympathize with 
our sister in the loss she has sustained, and as a 
token of respect for her and her lost member, we 
will go in mourning the usual lenglh of time. 

Resolved, That to the family of the deceased 
whose circle has thus been deprived of a dutiful 
son and affectionate brother, we offer our heart- 
felt condolence, and although we cannot ask 
them to check the tear of bereaved affection, yet 
may they remember in their affliction that hav- 
ing been faithful unto death, there remains for 
him a crown of life. 

Resolved, That a copy of these resolutions be 
placed at the disposal of the Dialectic Society, 
with the request that they be sent to the family 
of the deceased, and also to the University Mag- 
azine, and Fayetteville and Wilmington papers 
for publication. 

DAN'L McDOUGALD, ) Committee 


D. Mc L. GRAHAM, J Phi. Society. 

Dialectic Hall, ) 
May 31, 1835. \ 

When the aged pilgrim, weary with life, 
yearns for rest — and dies, we think it but a be- 
hest of nature that should be obeyed, and as we 
i carry him to his resting place, we feel we are 
I but performing those functions which the ordi- 
i nary course of nature demands. But when 
youth with its bright anticipations, and bouyant 
i hopes, is snddenly called to obey that dread 
: summons, philosophy is put to the blush, specu- 
! lations are idle, and we can but exclaim "Truly 
i the ways of Providence are mysterious and pas t 
i finding out." 

Death has again intruded himself into our 
midst, and folded in his icy embrace one of our 
brothers. Therefore, be it 

Resolved, That we the members of the Dia- 
lectic Society, do recognize, in the removal of 
John Alexander Smith, from our body, the 
hand of Providence. 

Resolved 2d, That without wishing to intrude 
into the privacy of the family circle, still we 

would in common with them, mingle our grief 
for the deceased, who, whilst he was connected 
with the Dialectic Society, proved himself a 
consistent member of it, and as far as it was pos- 
sible, acted up to its laws and requirements, and 
apart from that, in a social capacity, he endear- 
ed himself to his many friends by his kindness, 
urbanity, and correct deportment. 

Resolved 3J, That while we weep for the 
dead we rejoice in the manifestations he gave 
in his last hours, of his hope of immortality, and 
of that light which shou'd guide him through 
" the dark valley of the shadow of death ;" and 
that he so completely conquired by his calm- 
ness and Christian resignation, that dreadful 
hour which to many is so replete with terror — 
" Oh Death, where is thy sting ; Grave where 
is thy victory V 

Resolved 4th, That the usual badge of mourn- 
ing be worn by the members of the Dialectic 
Society, and that a similar request, with a copy 
of these resolutions be sent over to the Philan- 
thropic Hall ; also, that a copy of theso resolu- 
tions be sent to the family of the deceased, and 
to the University Magazine, Fayetteville and 
Wilmington papers, with the request to publish 

WM. H. HALL, ) 

WM. A. OWENS, f Com. 


Chapel Hill, May 31. 
Whereas, God in his All wise Providence has 
seen fit take from our midst our beloved friend, 
and classmate, John Alexander Smith, of 
Cumberland. Therefore, be it 
Resolved, by the Freshman Class. 
1st. That we deeply feel the lost of our es- 
teemed Classmate, and while we bow in hum- 
ble submission to the Wiil of Almighty God, we 
acknowledge the wisdom of Him who 
gives and takes away. 

2d. That we sympathize with his bereaved 
family in the death of so worthy a son who by 
his eminently noble qualities both of heart and 
mind, and his exemplary life had endeared him- 
selfto all. 

3d. That in testimony of our esteem and af- 
fectionate regret we will wear the usual badge 
of mourning for the remainder of the Term. 

4th. That a copy of these resolutions be sent 
to *he family of the deceased, also to the Uni- 
versity Magazine, Fayetteville and Wilmington 
papers, with a request to publish. 
WM. 0. THOMPSON, f° om - 



We beg leave to return our thanks to 
contributors for many valuable articles 
sent us during the past year, and respect- 
fully solicit from any one facts relating to 
North Carolina history, inasmuch as ours 
being a State Magazine, (and we believe 
the only one in it,) we would gladly make 
it a channel through which such facts 
may come before the public. 

And now making our parting bow, we 
give place to our new brethren and retire 
from the stage. As clouds float across 
the sky and are soon lost to view, so Col- 
lege generations pass away. It is really 
a striking homily upon our frailty and 
vanity to see how soon we are forgotten 
by those we leave behind us. Life itself 
is but a pilgrimage — and that oftentimes 
a dreary one. Friends die — and we weep 

— but time with a kindly hand heals all 
our wounds — and strikingly is this true in 
our exodus from College-life. Whatever 
undue importance we may attach to our- 
selves, still after we leave, College gets 
on without us much as it did before. Our 
names struck from the roll, our Diplomas 
handed to us — we pass from scenes fami- 
liar to us, others take our places and we 
are gone. Verily it is the way of the 
world, as one half comes in the other half 
goes out. But Farewell ! a word that 
has been and must be," Farewell ! ! 
W. H. HALL, 
E. J. McIVER. 

h. w. McMillan, 




Vol. IV. 

AUGUST, 1855. 

No. 6 


To the Public. — With this number 
ommence the duties of another Editorial 
3orps. We are thankful for the interest 
nanifested in the Magazine, while in the 
lands of our predecessors, and hope, as it 
s growing older and more mature, that the 
mmber of its friends will increase. We 
•re conscious that we are young and inex- 
perienced, and must ask that indulgence 
kdiich a generous public should ever be 
isposed to give. We appear before you, 
hid readers, with becoming modesty, 
nd a serious apprehension as to our abil- 
y, but from the warm greeting that our 
charge " has hitherto received in its 
onthly visits, we must assume confi- 
>}nce, and be incited to active exertion. 
When the propriety of establishing a 
lagazinewas discussed in '52, the friends 
"the project advocated it with doubt, 
tiile the opposition expressed open con- 
ction that such a thing would not suc- 
ed. Of its success, the most of you are 
rare. The December number of this 
ar will complete the fourth volume, and 
iw it must be conceded that nothing but 
B want of the deserved interest on the 
irt of its friends, and the proper exer- 
n on the part of the Editors, will arrest 

successful continuance. 
We do not hesitate to say that the Mag- 
iie has been productive of much good, 
aas drawn from dusty recesses and out- 
time volumes, much valuable informa- ' 
Vol. IV.— No. 16. 

tion relative to the history of the State, 
and thus created, we trust, a deeper inter- 
est in the highly instructive events of the 
past, and a new stimulus to future re- 
search. Much that cannot be compre- 
hended within the range of history but 
yet worthy of being read and known, be- 
longs to its province. In College its in- 
fluence has been for good. It has excite* 
a laudable emulation, and consequently 
elevated the standard of writing. The 
past year bears ample testimony to thfe 
fact, and we trust that each succeeding 
one will evince an advancement. Much 
depends on first impressions, and this 
should teach our fellow-students to con- 
centrate all their powers in their literary 

The pages of the Magazine have been 
enriched with productions of the ablest 
men of this and other States, while the 
daughters of Carolina have also adorned 
them with the rarest and choicest gems. 
With such experience of the past, we 
hope in future to be able to please the 
most fastidions tastes. We will serve a 
feast for all — dainties for Epicurus, enough 
for Apicius, and doubtless some for Tan- 
talus. The Harpies may hover around, 
but on our watch-tower will perpetually 
be stationed a Zethes and a Calais. Fear 
not then to approach and participate. — 
But if any one should still doubt our 
word, our table is a large one, you are at 



liberty to bring your own basket well fill- 
ed, and if there is no room on top, yet 
there is a spacious vacuum underneath, 
where the contents can be thrown. 

When we reflect on the welfare of the 
Magazine while under our care, we can- 
not but feel that our duties are onerous 
and responsible. Our predecessors have 
raised it to such an enviable position, that 
it will require great exertion to sustain 
it Its visits have always been kindly 

noticed in the papers, and while our 
" brethren of the quill " are ever ready to 
award distinction to merit, we hope that 
if we ever become negligent in the per- 
formance of our duties, they will not be 
remiss in censuring us. 

"We are now, kind readers, fully before 
you — our obeisance is made. "We hope 
that mutual pleasure may arise from the 
relation we sustain to you, and that all 
our hopes may be abundantly realized. 



We have just risen from an attentive ex- 
amination of the manuscripts of Waight- 
still Avery, the first Attorney General of 
North Carolina, under the State Consti- 
tution. We have arrived at the conclu- 
sion that meagre as they may seem to be 
at the first glance, they present more nu- 
merous and accurate details by which to 
form a correct opinion of the character of 
our population, and the condition of our 
affairs immediately previous to the revo- 
lution, than those of any of his contempo- 
raries to which we have had access. A 
selection from these we have determined 
to place before our readers, and to prefix 
a brief sketch of the leading incidents, 
which characterized the not uneventful 
life of the author. 

Waightstill Avery was born at Nor- 
wich, Connecticut, and graduated at 
Princeton College in 1766. His diary, 
beginning with the 18th day of January, 
1769, and closing on the 31st of Decem- 
ber, affords so clear an insight into his 
character, that we have little reason to re- 
gret the absence of earlier details with 
reference to his manner of life, his char- 
acter in boyhood, and his opportunities 

to acquire an education. The only son of 
a numerous family who obtained a col- 
legiate education, whose father left no 
patrimony for any of his chilren, but had 
brought them all up in the way that they 
should go, he began life, a Puritan of the 
purest type, exhibited in the days when 
genuine puritanism was the great charac- 
teristic of the people of Connecticut. — 
From these principles he never departed, 
but at the close of a long life, died in the 
faith of his fathers. 

After his departure from Princeton, h 
removed to the State of Maryland, studied 
law under the direction of Littleton Den-X 
nis, and early in 1769 set out for Norflj 
Carolina. From this date to the close of \ 
the year, a careful examination of the 
succeeding diary will well reward the pa- 
tience of the reader. 

Leaving Accomack on the 18th Janua- 
ry, with the Rev. Charles J. Smith of the 
Presbyterian Church, in company with 
whom he crossed the Chesapeake Bay, he 
arrived at the house of Mr. William At- 
mistead at sunset. Here he remainec 
some days, and admired the specimen ex 
hibited of Virginia grandeur, in a wel 


furnished house, a coach and six, &c." — 
From this hospitable residence, he pro- 
ceeded to Williamsburg, dined with Mr. 
Tazwell, called upon Mr. Camm, the Di- 
vinity Professor in William and Mary, 
upon Peyton Randolph, the Speaker of 
the House of Burgesses, and others. The 
; attention of Mr. Camm was evidently 
most grateful to him, and it is very appa- 
: rent that he was more at home in the 
philosophical chamber, the library of the 
Divinity Professor, and at the house of 
Mr. Smith, (with whom he had parted at 
the close of his first day's travel, but at 
whose hospitable mansion, he finds him- 
self on the 29th January,) than at the 
patrician residences of Tazwell and Ran- 

He enters upon his journey with a cler- 
gyman, suspends his travel and rests the 
: first Sabbath at Williamsburg, and listens 
to a sermon from "the worthy Mr. Smith" 
'at Providence Iron Works, the following 
'Sabbath ; and his diary closes on the clos- 
Hng day of the year with "a sermon." His 
'journal shows that he rarely omitted an 
Opportunity to attend Divine worship on 
my occasion, especially upon Sunday, 
"rod that he was not merely attentive to 
'■eligious ordinances, but studiously polite 
Hnd kind in his intercourse with ministers 
)f the gospel. 

j He crossed the boundary line into North 
Carolina, on the 4th February, under cir- 
cumstances which seemed to afford small 
inducement 'to choose a place of rest,' and 
'little promise that during a period of 
J aore than half a century, his exertions 
"'Vould be crowned with usefulness, dis- 
inction and affluence. He arrived at 
} 5denton the next day, and amongst oth- 
ers became acquainted with Mr. Johnston, 
he Clerk of the Court, and Joseph Hewes, 
ubsequently a signer of the Declaration 
!f Independence. From Edenton, he 
assed to the residence of Col. Dawson, 
) n Salmon Creek, and enjoyed the splen- 
i id hospitality and refined society afford- 

ed in those days, aL that mansion. On 
Sunday the 19th, wFfind him at church 
in Northampton whence he went to "Col. 
Allen Jones," and from there in company 
with the Colonel, Doct. Catheart, (a gen- 
tleman of large estate, "extraordinary fine 
sense and great reading,") his beautiful 
and accomplished daughters, and "five 
young gentlemen of fortune," to Halifax, 
where he entered upon a scene of elegant 
and refined festivities, rarely equalled in 
these degenerate times. Puritan as he 
was, he lingered amidst these dalliances 
during three entire days. Here he made 
the acquaintance of Judge Stokes, and 
several gentlemen of the Bar, and after 
taking leave of his new friends, and tha 
"good and friendly Doctor Catheart," on 
the 22d of February, he set out for Hills- 

Of his adventures from the time he left 
Halifax until he reached Salisbury, we 
leave his journal to speak for itself, with 
the single remark, that at Hillsborough 
he spent an evening with Mr. McNair, a 
wealthy Scotch merchant, where he was 
introduced' to the Clerk of the Court, Gen. 
Francis Nash. 

He arrived at Salisbury on Thursday, 
the 2d of March, and passed a social eve- 
ning with Col. Fanning and Col. Frohock. 
From them he probably received the first 
minute information with reference to the 
state of parties, and the political questions 
which agitated the western section of the 
Province. Fanning was a man of fine 
manners, a scholar of unusual attainments, 
a native of the same province with Avery, 
and Frohock's "plantation and house, the 
most elegant and large within 100 miles." 
It is not surprising that with the aid of 
such blandishments and appliances, these 
artful men succeeded in captivating and 
deluding the young stranger. Harman 
Husbands, the leader of the Regulators, 
was a Quaker preacher ; many of his fol- 
lowers were of the same persuasion, and 
between Puritans and Quakers, there was 



at that day an impassable gulf. A warm, 
personal friendshipwas formed between 
Fanning and Avery, which seems to have 
continued after the former removed from 
the Province. 

On the 7th June, 1772, Samuel Avery 
writes to his brother Waightstill, from 
New York, that having claims to 100,000 
acres of land on Otter creek, he had re- 
ceived material assistance from Col. Fan- 
ning, who is concerned in the land office 
and "has the Governor's ear." "He in- 
forms me that you are doing well, and 
desires to be remembered to you, for 
whom he has a particular regard." 

To proceed with events at Salisbury. — 
On the 7th March, he dined with Judge 
Henderson and William Hooper, Dep. 
Atto. General, and subsequently the dis- 
tinguished signer of the Declaration of 
Independence. During the three follow- 
ing days, he was formally introduced to 
Judge Spencer, Maj. Dunn, and Governor 

Thursday the 16th, in company with 
the Judge, Col. Fanning and Mr. Hooper, 
he set out for Hillsborough, where they 
arrived on Monday following, having all 
Fanning's and Frohock's representations 
fully confirmed, by ascertaining, that the 
party had "been waylaid by the Regula- 
tors, who had formed an ambuscade to 
kill Col. Fanning." 

Here he met Chief Justice Howard, and 
a crowd of lawyers and others, among 
whom he "narrowly escaped being intoxi- 
cated," and on Sunday the 26th, seems 
not to have been particularly edified, by 
hearing "the Rev. George Micklejohn, 
preach a well connected, cunning Ar- 
menian discourse." At the close of the 
term, he proceeded to Brunswick where he 
obtained license to practice law, from Gov. 
Tryon ; returned by way of Cross Creek 
(Fayctteville,) and Anson Court House, 
(where he made his debut at the bar ;) 
witnessed additional evidence of disregard 
or law and order, upon the part of the 

Regulators, and on the 18th April, arriv- 
ed at Charlotte. On Wednesday the 19th, 
he met with Col. Adlai Osborne, the se- 
cond man in the Province whom he had 
seen before. It will be recollected that 
he had entered the Province the 4th Feb- 
ruary. In less than three months he had 
travelled from the extreme Northeastern 
limits, by way of Edenton, Halifax and 
Hillsborough and Salisbury, returning to 
Hillsborough, he had passed directly 
thence to Brunswick in the Southeastern 
corner, and was now upon the western 
frontier. He had visited every important 
place in the Province, without the dis- 
trict of New Berne, and made the ac- 
quaintance of the most prominent persons 
at all the places he had been. 

But he is now in Mecklenburg, and 
soon domiciled at the house of Hezekiah 
Alexander, at the rate of £12 for eight 
months. He could not probably have 
found upon the face of the earth, a home 
and a people more entirely congenial to 
him, and those who desire to understand, 
why the earliest movements in favor of 
American Independence were made in 
Mecklenburg, may well examine the evi- 
dence afforded by his writings, of the pe- 
culiar character of the people with whom 
he was about to unite his destinies. 

" We would inform you that there are 
about one thousand freemen of us who 
hold to the established church of Scotland, 
able to bear arms in the county of Meck- 
lenburg :" — thus writes Waightstill Ave- 
ry in the Petition for the repeal of the 
marriage Act in 1769. 

Bancroft,* the American historian, 
speaking of the state of things in Boston, 
at the beginning of September, of the pre- 
vious year, remarks : " the approach of 
military rule convinced Samuel Adams of 
the necessity of American Independence. 
From this moment he struggled for it de- 

* Amer. Rev. Vol. III., p. 21*. 



liberately and unremittingly, as became 
one who delighted in the stern creed of 
Calvin, which wherever it has prevailed 
in Geneva, Holland, Germany, Scotland, 
Puritan England, New England, has 
spread intelligence, severity of morals, 
love of freedom and courage." 

The seeds of revolution were sown in 
Mecklenburg by the passage of the "Act 
concerning Vestries," and the repeal of 
the charter of Queen's College. The har- 
vest, the embryo Alexanders and Bre- 
vards and Polks and Lockes, and Ruther- 
fords and Grahams and Davies, and Da- 
vidsons and Jacksons, and ranks of armed 
men, such as the world has rarely seen, 
soon covered the beautiful vales of the 
Yadkin and the Catawba. 

Our limits will not admit of our at- 
tempting any thing further at present, 
than a mere summary in chronological 
order of some of the leading events in his 
subsequent history. 

He was among the most prominent of 
those who held the Attorney for the 
Crown, (the loyalist Maj. Dunn,) to a just 
responsibility in the autumn of 1774 — (2 
Wheeler's Hist. Sket. p. 378.) He was 
a member of the Mecklenburg Committee 
that declared in favor of American Inde- 
pendence, in May 1775. He was a dele- 
gate to the Provincial Congress which 
placed the Province in a state of military 
organization in August 1775, and was 
elected by that body a member of the 
Provincial Council, He was a member of 
I the Provincial Congress of 1776, which 
adopted the State Constitution, and is 
known to have been conservative in his 
his views. He was in favor of a division 
J of the legislative body into two houses, 
and of good behavior as the tenure of ju- 
C dicial office. He was appointed by the 
Congress a member of the Committee, 
which in 1777, revised the whole body of 
the public statute laws. 

On the 12th June, 1777, Governor Cas- 
well appointed him a Commissioner, with 

William Sharpe, Robert Lanier, and Jo- 
seph Winston, to act in conjunction with 
Commissioners from Virginia, and enter 
into a treaty with the Cherokee Indians. 
The trea'iy was concluded on the 20th 
July thereafter, at Fort Henry on Holston 
River, ntjar the Long Island. 

On thsti 12th January, 1778, he receiv- 
ed his commission as Attorney General, 
and shortly thereafter married and re- 
moved to the County of Jones. 

On the 3d July, 1779, he was appoint- 
ed by Governor Caswell, " Colonel of the 
Jones regiment of militia in the room of 
Nathan Qryan resigned." In 1781, find- 
ing the climate of the low country was 
impairing his health, he removed to the 
county of Burke, settled on a beautiful 
and fertile estate on the Catawba, known 
as the Swan Ponds, the present residence 
of his son Col. Isaac T. Avery. He was 
for many years a member of Assembly 
from the county of Burke, and was, in 
the arrangement of all his affairs, public 
and private, one of the most methodical 
and systematic of men. His library was 
the most extensive and well- selected in 
the western section of the State, and up- 
on the destruction of the State-House by 
fire in 1831, the Governor was enabled, 
by the liberality of his son, to draw from 
it the only complete collection of printed 
copies of the Acts and Journals of the 
General Assembly, known to be extant 
This library must have been procured 
and arranged subsequently to his settle- 
ment at the Swan Ponds, for in 1780, du- 
ring the occupancy of Charlotte by Lord 
Cornwallis, his law office, his library and 
many of his papers were reduced to 

Of the history of his family in Connec- 
ticut we have little information. The 
few details that have reached us accord 
well with his own. His brother Solomon, 
in a letter, the original of which is now 
before us, wrote on the 19th July, 1783, 
as follows: "Eleven Averys were killed 



in the fort at Groton, and seven' wounded. 
Many Averys have been killed ir^this war. 
There has been no Tory of thu name of 
Avery in these parts." 

He died in 1821, in the eqoyment 
of an ample estate, "the Pa+^arch of 
th.e North Carolina bar, an exemplary 
christian, a pure patriot and ; . honest 
man." L ~ 

We regret that we have not L oom for 
more than a mere reference to th^ history 
of Mrs. Avery. She survived Bar hus- 
band several years, and was a ^dy of 
great intelligence and amiability^ They 
had four children, all of whom ap living 
at the present time, viz: PollyUlyra— 
widow of Jacob Summy, of ^Henderson 
county ; Elizabeth— widow of Maj. Wil- 
liam B. Lenoir of Tennessee ; Col. Isaac 
T. Avery of Burke, and Selina Louisa, 
wife of Col. Thomas Lenoir of Caldwell 



January 18th, 1769, — In company with 
the Rev. Mr. Charles J. Smith, set out 
from Mr. Ker's, in Accomack, and Wed- 
nesday crossed Chesapeake Bay, suffered 
much with the cold in an open boat, and 
landed at sunset nigh Mr. William Armi- 

Jan. 19, 20, 21, — My hors°- being lame, 
Mr. Smith left me ; and here I tarried un- 
til Saturday, and saw a specimen of Vir- 
ginia grandeur in the Furniture and at- 
tendance of Armistead's very large and 
well furnished House, Coach and six, 

21, — Left Armistead's and rode almost 
to York River, 20m. 

22. — Crossed and went to Wms Burg, 
15m. Horse still lame. 

23. — Monday, by invitation dined with 
Taswell, and waited on Mr. Camm, Divi- 
nity Professor, in the College of Wm. and 
24.— Dined and supped with Mr. Camm, 

who treated me civilly ; being lame, sent 
the Usher to wait on me in the Library, 
and went himself to show me the appa- 

Jan. 25. — Wednesday, called on Mr. 
Taswell, who having before promised his 
good offices, now gave me two friendly 
letters : advised to visit the Speaker, (viz.) 
Peyton Randolph. I then took leave of 
Mr. Taswell, and accordingly waited on 
Mr. Speaker, who directed me to his bro- 
ther, neither of whom did me any ser- 
vice ; next, on Mr. Camm, from whom, at 
taking leave, I rec'd two friendly letters, 
and" immediately left town, my horse 

Jan. 26, 27, 28.— Thursday, came to Mr. 
Burbridges, a good old Presbyt'n, with 
whom I tarried the 2 succeeding days, 
this being 25m. from Wms Burg. 

Jan. 29. — Sunday, rode six miles to 
Providence Iron Works, on Chickahom- 
iny River, a Branch of James R., on the 
North Side. Here, at his own House I 
met again with the worthy Mr. C. J. 
Smith ; who the same day, preached his 
first sermon in that place, to an audience 
of 600 persons as near as we could judge, 
(aliis nigrisque). 

Jan. 30. — With Mr. Smith took a criti- 
cal view of his Saw Mill, two Grist Mills,, 
Forge, Plantation, &c. 

Jan. 31. — Monday, judging my horse 
unfit for the journey, rode out and bought 
one at £12 5s. 9d. 

February 1. — Tuesday, sold my lamej 
horse for £6 10s., to Mr. Holt; rode in 
company with Mr. Smith 2 Messrs. Holts 
and sundry other gentlemen ; went l5m. 
to Charles City Court. After dinner took 
leave of the worthy Mr. Smith, and cros 
sed James R. 5m, and landed at dark, but 
having company continued 10m. to Ed- 
ward Avery's. 

Feb. 2. — Rode Southwardly very crook 
ed, saw few houses, crossed some Riven 
that empty into Edenton Sound, and af 
ter a disagreeable day's ride of 38m. arriv 



ed at Parson Agars, in Southampton coun- 

Feb. 3. — Leaving the Parson who did 
not appear very obliging, I steered my 
course easterly, to Suffolk, 30 miles, this 
was 20 miles out of my way to Edenton, 
all for want of proper intelligence, the 
people in that Wilderness being too igno- 
rant to direct. 

Feb. 4 — Procured Shoes set on my 
horse, and rode Southerly towards Eden- 
toon 30m., entering this day into North 


Feb. 5. — Sunday, rode into Edenton 
25m., spent the evening with two gentle- 
men Attorneys, Charlton & Cummins, 
both Deists. 

Feb. 6. — Delivered Mr. Eyre's Letter to 
Messrs *Hewes & Smith. 

Feb. 7. — Tuesday, made proper enqui- 
ries, spent the Evening with Mr. Johnson, 
Gen. Att'y. and Cl'k of the C't, an cour- 
teous man, educated at Yale 1 College. 

Feb. 8. — Having rec'd Letters apiece 
from Messrs. Johnson, Hewes & Smith, 
crossed part of Edenton Sound, into Ber- 
tie County, (which lies in the fork or con- 
fluence of the great Rivers Roanoke and 
Meherrin,) and lodged at Lawyer Pier- 
son's, an English Gent'n, with his Eng- 
lish Lad}'. 

Feb. 9. — Thursday, Crossed Salmon 
Creek Ferry to Col. John Dawson's, a 
^Virginian, who married a daughter of 
Gabriel Johnson, Gov, of N. Carolina.- 
To him I delivered Mr. Eyre's letter of 
"commendation while at Edenton, & had 
rec'd a pressing invitation to come spend 
a few days at his House. 
I Feb. 10, 11, & 12.— Here, therefore, I 
tarried 4 Days. Highly pleased with the 
Family, as well as surprised with the good 

sense and accomplishments of Mrs. Daw- 
son and submissive tempers, and sweet 
dispositions of their 2 little daughters* 
who besides being very pretty, were dis- 
creet beyond their years. Here as a cu- 

* Joseph Hewea, one of the sigrsei3 of the De- 
claration of Independence. 

*It is gratifying to be able to trace the subse- 
quent history of one cf these little girls, in the 
following picture of surpassing beauty and 
loveliness, cjipied from a Sketch of the Life and 
Character of the late Joseph xt. Skinner, by 
his brother Thos. H. Skinner D.D. an unpublish- 
ed Memoir, printed for private distribution 
among the friends of the deceased. 

"Mrs. Lowther, was a grand-daughter of Gov. 
Gabriel Johnson and Penelope Eden, daughter 
of Gov. Eden. Her parents were William and 
Penelope Dawson; her husband was Tristrim 
Lowther, Esq., a man of refined manners, who 
had a high standing at the bar, and was es- 
teemed and beloved for his kindness to the 
poor, and the general excellence of his char- 

Mrs. Lowther was distinguished by birth and 
education, in both of which she had every ad- 
vantage, less than by intrinsic excellencies; 
such, especially, as form the highest grace and 
charm of the female character. Her person 
was a rare model of beauty and delicacy ; in 
height, in shape, in complexion, in every fe*- 
ture and line so exquisitely fashioned, that, re- 
garding it in the class of forms to which it be- 
longed, art itself could scarcely suggest an im- 
provement or desire any variation ; one, at 
least, could note no defect, could attempt no 
criticism, in the presence of so much that was 
so surpassingly beautiful and attractive. I can- 
not imagine that any one not insensible to 
beauty, could see Mrs. Lowther, though in a 
multitude of "the fair," without having his 
eye riveted by her distinctive, queenly appear- 
ance. And yet she was the complete contrast 
of ostentatious beauty. The charm of all her 
charms was a palpably evident self-unconsci- 
ousness of being in any degree uncommon or 
distinctive. She could not be hid, yet it appear- 
ed to observers that she would be if she could. 
It gives me singular pleasure, at this remote 
day, to contemplate such a specimen of unaf- 
fected modesty ; I have never conceived of any- 
thing of its kind, which I think more entitled 
to be termed celestial. And the adornments 
and movements of her person were invariably 
consistent with its peerless symmetry and ele- 



riosity the Col. sent for a drunken sottish 
parson T. 

Feb. 13. — Monday. In the mean time 
my horse ran away, and was unsuccess- 
fully pursued by two Negroes for 2 days. 
Rode after him myself. At 12m. distance 

gance. Her dress, her steps, her attitudes, her 
Vooks, were always such as become her inhe- 
rent modesty, the true dignity and nobility 
which belonged to her nature. For six years 
during which I was an inmate of the family. 
according to my best remembrance of those 
happy years, I saw her do nothing which had 
not a decorum and propriety in entire keeping 
with her character as I have represented it, 
She had always a tasteful and beautiful air, and 
to look upon her face or hear her voice, at any 
time, was a refreshment. 

And if she was so lovely and beautiful in ap- 
pearance, she was yet. more beautiful within. — 
She aid not aim at. effect ; if she studied to 
please others, as she certainly did, it was for 
their sake, not her own. It seemed to be as 
much her nature to be unselfish, as it is the na- 
ture of man generally to be the reverse. She 
always appeared, for she always was, happy in 
what made others so ; and in the affections of 
others, how spontaneously, how sincerely, how 
deeply was she afflicted. When the weather 
was stormy, her sympathies were with the wea- 
ther-beaten mariner ; when the pestilence was 
raging, they were with sufferers in the chamber 
of disease and death. I never heard her, I can- 
not think any one ever heard her speak an evil 
word of any person. She would extenuate the 
faults of others, and the more so, sometimes 
when she herself was the sufferer by them ; 
and if she could find no excuse for them, she 
would weep, and comfort herself as far as she 
eould with that " charity which hopeth all 
things." Her cultivation and politeness gave 
her no inferior place among persons of refined 
and elegant manners : but intercourse with the 
humble and the poor, even such of them as 
were of lower habits, while she retained her 
lovely individuality, she was as familiar as if 
she had been one of their own class. She gave 
Buch evidence as no one could question, that 
she esteemed those who had intercourse with 
her, whether of high or low rank, better than 
herself, and even forgot herself, in the interest 
which she took in them. She had abright and 
well-furnished mind; her proper sphere was 

got news of him. Went 5 miles without 
seeing a House or hearing anything of 
him, continuing on, got lost, and wander- 
ing 2m. out of the way found him and re- 
turned to the Col's, same day. 

Feb. 14. — Tuesday, took leave of this 
agreeable place, and set out toward Hali- 
fax. Rid by Cashie 15m ; then rec'd bad 

that of the highest cultivation and intelligence ; 
but she was quite at home, also with persona of 
inferior name and condition. 

The loveliness, the grace of Mrs. Lowther's 
character, as now regarded, though advanced 
and matured by education, was merely natural ; 
it was what belonged to her by her original 
constitution, as given her by her Maker. That 
such native excellence should have been crown- 
ed and sanctified by evangelical piety, was not 
a fruit from itself, and not to be on any account 
anticipated as a necessary or certain result. In 
my early acquaintance with her, I do not think 
she was a spiritual christian. Her goodness 
was constitutional, natural, not from the renew- 
ing influence of the Holy Spirit. But when, 
the change occurred in myself, which led to a 
change in my choice of a profession, she was 
simultaniously and similarly changed ; she 
sympathized with me in my new feelings, be- 
gan a strictly religious mode of life, and, until 
her death, continued to give most decisive evi- 
dences of renovation by the Spirit. Her reli- 
gious character was improved by time ; she 
was a mature and established Christian when 
she died ; and her death was serene, touching, 
triumphant. One circumstance of it was re- 
markably characteristic. When the last strug- 
gle was about to commence, observing her 
daughter, who sat near her, overwhelmed in 
sorrow, she said, "Let Maria be removed; 
what is about to take place is more than she 
can bear." She arranged her person, with her 
own hand pressed her falling chin upward, and 
so calmly and peacefully yielded up her spirit 
into the hands of God. 

In reviewing what I have said of a dear 
friend, I am not conscious of any exaggeration; 
however, it may appear to others, in my own 
vivid conviction, it is but an utterance of strict, 
sober truth. Until but a short time before her 
death, she lived with her daughter, the pride of 
the family, as she was also of the eminently 
cultivated and refined social circle to which she 


directions and got lost, and continued so 
5 hours including one after sun. 

Feb. 15. — "Wednesday, in the evening, 
after 30m. ride, arrived at Doctor Cath- 
cart's, whom I found to be a gent'n. of ex- 
traordinary fine sense and great reading. 
Improved by his company and diverted 
and pleased with that of his Daughters 
and their sparks, I stayed the week 

Feb. 15, 16, 17 & 18— These two La- 
dies* are possessed of the three greatest 
motives to be courted : Beauty, Wit and 
Prudence, and Money ; great Fortunes, 
and toasted in most parts of the pro- 

Feb. 19, 20, 21 & 22.— Sand. Went to 
Church, thence to Col. Allyn Jones's,t 
whence in company with him, Doct. Cath- 
cart, his Daughters, and 5 young Gent'n 
of Fortune, rode into Halifax 10m. Was 
kindly rec'd by 3 Gent'n. Merchts., and 6 
Gent'n. Att'ys. (viz.) Pendleton, Long, 
Brimage, Milner, Stokes & Coke. Rec'd 
a courteous invitation to a splendid Ball 
in the Evening, and was treated with 
great civility for 3 days, during which I 
took leave of the good and Friendly Doc- 
tor Cathcart. 

Feb. 22.— Wednesday, From Halifax 
100m. west of Eden ton I set out for 
Hillsborough 100 still more west, rode 
30m., came late up with one Powels, and 
found him and one of his neighbors with 
two travellers at supper. I soon perceiv- 
ed the neighbor drunk ; and there being 
but one room in the house, he reel'd and 
staggered from side to side thro' it, tumb- 

*One uf these young ladies subsequently was 
the wife of Gov. Samuel Johnson, and the mo- 
ther of James C. Johnson, Esq., of Hayes, near 
Edenton. ' 

^General Allen Jones of the Revolution, bro- 
ther of Willie Jones, and father-in-law of Gen - 
William R. Davie. See Revolutionary History 
of North Carolina, p. 174, Wheeler's Hist. Skt. 
Vol. 2, p. 296. 

ling over, not chairs, for there were none 
in the House, but stools and Tables, &c. 
He was soon accompanied in the stagger- 
ing scheme, by the Landlord and Travel- 
ers, first one and then both, who all 
blunder'd, bawl'd, spew'd and curs'd, 
broke one another's Heads and their own 
shins, with stools, and bruised their Hips 
and Ribs with Sticks of the Couch Pens, 
pulled hair, lugg'd, hallo'd, swore, fought 
and kept up the Roar-Rororum till morn- 
ing. Thus I watched carefully all night, 
to keep them from falling over and spew- 
ing upon me. 

Feb. 23, 24 & 25.— Without shutting 
my Eyes to sleep, I set out at Day -break, 
and happy that I had escaped, continued 
my journey 3 days with hard Fare for 
Man and Horse ; then arrived at Hills- 
borough, and was the same day introduc- 
to Mr. McNear* Gent'n Merchant, by a 
letter of Rece'n from John Coke, Esq., 
Cl'k of Sup'r Court. Spent the evening 
with Mr. McNear at his Room where I 
was introduced to Mr. Nash, Cl'k of the 
inferior C't. 


Feb. 26 & 27.— Ordered my Horse out 
to fatten, hired another. 

Feb. 28. — Tuesday, set out for Salis- 
bury, 100m. W. S. W., rode 18m. to Haw 
River, which was very high 1-6 mile over, 
the water falling down over stones and 
between Islands of Rocks, roaring and 
rushing on with a greater fury in particu- 
lar parts; my horse being carried down 
many paces at several different times as I 
pass'd the most rapid places; but happily 
not dash'd against the Rocks nor thrown 
between where swimming deep ; from 
hence rode 18m. all wet. 

*Ralph McNair, Esq., a wealthy Scotch mer- 
chant, representative in the General Assembly, 
at the dawn of the Rovolution, and subsequent- 
ly a Loyalist. 



March 1. — Wednesday. Rained all day, 
wet thro' my Great Coat ; cross'd more 
Rivers, found little to eat, and that little 
very poor and very nasty. 

March 2. — Thursday, continu'd to rain 
and I continu'd to ride in it. Eleven o'- 
clock entered a River which proved -\ ery 
deep, carried down a great distance float- 
ing on the stream in great danger of fall- 
ing down on huge rocks ; upon, among 
and between which the waters were deep 
engulf 'd, dashing and roaring with great 
noise. But haply I got hold of the verge 
of the bank, a little above the great fall ; 
and with difficulty saved myself and 
horse. I then blessed the Lord for this 
signal deliverance, set forward and arriv- 
at Salisbury the same day. Spent the 
evening with Col. Fanning and Col. 


March 3. — Rode out 8 miles into Car- 
thew's settlement, and heard a few latin 
boys say pieces. 

March L — Saturday, wrote the pre- 
ceeding two weeks' Historjr. 

March 5. — Sunday, expected the Hon- 
orable Rich'd Henderson, Esq., associate 
Judge of the Sup'r Court, thro' the pro- 
vince. Sheriffs and Gent'n went out to 
wait upon him into town. 

March 6. — Monday, the Judge came in 
and Court was open'd. 

March 7.— Rec'd a line from his Honor 
Judge Henderson,t desiring that I would 
dine with him and Hooper Atty,J which 
I accordingly did. 

'"For an appropriate notice ul these two indi- 
viduals,, the most Famous among those whose 
exactions, gave rise to the war with the Regu- 
lators. See Revolutionary History of North 
Carolina, compiled by Win, D. Cooke, page 

fRichard Henderson, Governor of Transyl- 
vania, and father of the late Chief Justice, Leo- 
nard Henderson. 

t William Hooper, signer of the Declaration of 

March 8, 9 & 10. — During these three 
days I was formally introduced to the fol- 
lowing Gentlemen of the Law : Col. Spen- 
cer,* Major Dun,t Major Williams, and 
Mi-. Martin,^ Esqrr. • 

March 11. — By invitation dined with 
Col. Fanning, and the Grand Jury. 

March 12.— Sunday. Heard the Rev'd 
Mr. Tate, and dined with his hon'r of the 
Bench, and all the gent'n of the Bar. 

March 13. — Monday. Wm. Fields was 
arraigned for Murder. 

March 14. — He was tried, convicted, 
and rec'd Sentence of death. 

March lo. — Wednesday, Knowland and 
one other man were arraigned for horse 
stealing, and acquitted. 

March 16 & 17. — In company with the 
Judge, Col. Fanning, and Mr. Hooper, set 
out for Hillsborough. 

March 18, 19 & 20. — Where we arrived 
on Monday the 20th, having been waylaid 
by the Regulators who had formed an 
Ambuscade to kill Col. Fanning. 


Monday, the 20th, arrived at Hills- 

March 21. — In the evening, Chief Jus- 
tice Howards came into Town. 

March 22. — Sup'r Court was open- 

March 23. — The Evening was spent in 
a great crowd of Lawers and others — nar- 
rowly escaped being intoxicated. 

March 24= & 25. — Business of Court 
went on. 

March 26.— Heard the Rev'dll John 

*Judge Samuel Spencer, in 1777. 

fJohn Dunn, a famous loyalist. See Wheel- 
er's Hist. Sket., p. 877. 

JAlexander Martin, Gov. in 1782. 

§For a notice of Howard, turn to VVheeler's 
Hist. Sket., p. 100. 

|A faithful biographical sketch of the Rev. 
George Micklejohn, is greatly to be desired. — 
He resided in Hillsborough, before and during 
many years after the Revolution, and died at 
an advanced age, we believe, in Virginia. Ht> 


MicklejoKn preach a well connected, cun- 
ning, Arminian discourse, which was high- 
ly applauded by all the Bar and Bench. 

March 27. — Harman Husbands was 
tried for Insurgency, and acquitted. 
^ March 28.— -Col. Fanning was tried for 
Extortion in the Register's Office. A 

was named among other? for the Presidency ol 
the University, at the first attempt to organize a 
Faculty in 1794. 

This village derived its name from the Chapel 
in which he ministered, on the margin of the 
gieat road from Pittsborough to Oxford, near the 
oresent residence of Richard J. Ashe, Esq. Some 
traces of the foundation of this ancient Chapel, 
and of the line of the old Oxford road, are still 

Wo give below the title page of a sermon, 
printed in pamphlet form, and dedicated to Gov. 
Tryon. The design of the discourse, may be 
inferred from the text, and the circumstances 
under which it was delivered. Let every soul be 
subject unto the higher Powers, for there is no 
power but of God ; the poivcrs that be are or- 
dained of God. 

Whosoever, therefore, resisteth the Poicer, 
resisted the O, dinance of God; and they that 
resist shall receive to themselves Damna- 

Romans, Chap, xiii, 1. 2. 
On the important Duty of Subjection to the 



Preached before his Excellency 

William Tryon, Esquire, 

Governor and Commander in Chief of the 

Province oi North Carolina 


Troops -aised to quell the late 



Hillsborough, in Orange County 

On Sunday September 25, 1768 

By Geo. Micklejohn, s. t. d. 

Nhw-Bern : 

Printed by James Davis. 


flood of indictments being thrown in 
against him by the Violence of Fac- 

March 29. — Set out in company with 
Mr. Hooper toward Wilmington, near 200 
miles, where we arrived on Monday even- 
ing, the 3rd of April. 

April 4, — "Went by water down to 
Brunswick 15m ; spoke with the Gover- 
nor who informed me that his Secretary 
was out of Town, and therefore he could 
do no public business that day. At the 
Governor's was introduced to Mr. Hasell, 
President of the Council. Viewed a great 
Dike which Gov. Dobbs begun, &c. Then 
ree'd a kind invitation to dine with his 
Excellency the following Day. 

April 5. — Dined accordingly with the 
Governor and his Lady ; Got my busi- 
ness done ; (viz. a License to practice 
Law,) took a turn in the Garden, (which 
being very curious was shown me by 
himself,) I then took leave of his Excel- 

April 6 & 7. — Returned as far as Wil- 
mington by water, where I tarried all 
the next day arru viewed the town ; this 
being the biggest in the province, and 
frequented by the greatest no. of mer- 

April 8. — Satd. Anson Court House 
lay 170 miles West o" me, in my way to 
which lay Cross Creek, towards this 
place, therefore I set out and rode 30 
miles, having first passed over to the 
South side of Cape Fair River. 

April 9. — Continued my journey alone 
and lodged at Peter Lord's. 

April 10. — Dined at Cross Creek, which 
is the highest navigation for Row Boats, 
on Cape Fair River. Rode 12m. further, 
went to bed supperless because the House 
looked too nasty for christians to e^at 

April 11. — Tuesday. Set out fasting- 
rode 15m. in the plainest right hand path 
according to direction, the last ten with- 
out a house ; then at a very nasty hut 



was informed by an old sore- eyed woman 
that my road was 10m. to my right hand. 
Rather than go 10m. back, I took direc- 
tion to go the same distance thro' the 
woods. Pursuing my directions, was 
stopt by Creeks on both hands — attempt- 
ing to pass them, mired my horse several 
times. Then as the last resource, deter- 
mined to head the Creek to my right 
hand, which proved about 5m. Then lay- 
ing my course, no further difficulty inter- 
vened. At 5 o'clock came to a house after 
.35 miles ride, and there for the first time 
that day, broke my fast and fed my horse. 
After Breakfast I rode 7 miles to a poor 
Highlander's log Cabbin, measuring out 
6 feet of ground, I thereon rested my 
weary limbs; this being the first night I 
slept on the ground. 

April 12. — Wednesday. Pursuing my 
way, was at 4 o'clock informed, that An- 
son Court then sitting, was 5 miles from 
me, the great River P. D. intervening. — 
Then getting intelligence, I descended a 
huge Cliff and entered the first part of 
the River, divided from the rest by a long 
Island. This thorough-fair was 25 rods 
over, deep as the horse's back, a quick 
current, some stones appearing above wa- 
ter, and the whole bottom made up of 
others concealed. Having reach'd the Is- 
land, with some difficulty worked through 
to the other side, when the main river 
3-4 of a mile over. Guided by a fish 
trap on the Rocks, I passed on well near 
70 Rods, then met a great stream pressing 
thro' a wide outlet between high Rocks 
up the river. This proving deep and vio- 
lent, forced my horse down stream until 
finding shoaler water, the horse recovered 
his feet ; then coasting round the End of 
an Island, I met no more obstructions ex- 
cept sharp stones at bottom, which had 
infested me all the way. 

A little before sun down, I reach'd ter- 
ra Jirma, and found my horse very lame. 
Riding moderately about 2 1-2 miles, ar- 
rived late in the evening at the Court 

House, met three Attorneys* who were 
like to be my companions and fellow prac- 
titioners at the same Bar, (viz) Major John 
Dunn, Col. Sam'l Spencer, & Capt Alex- 
ander Martin. These informed me that a 
set of Banditti who styled themselves Re^ 
gulators, had on the evening before 
brought a large quantity of hickory swit- 
ches to menace, the Clerk of the Court, 
(viz.) Col. Spencer, whom they threaten- 
ed, and flogged his writer. 

April 13. — Thursday they proceeded 
to business, and among other things ad- 
ministered the States Oaths to me, order- 
ing my name to be enroled as an Attorney 
of that Court. 


April 14. — Began the practice of the 
Law by opening a cause against a Hog 

April 15. — Spoke for a man charged 
with putting his mark on Hogs not his 
own, who was cleared. 

April 16. — Sunday, Major Dunn, Mar- 
tin & myself lost our horses, which run 

April 17. — Searched to no purpose. 
" 18. — Hired a horse, and in com- 
pany withj the above mentioned gentle- 
men, set out for Mecklenb'g Court, at the 
distance of 65 miles, W. b N. 

April 19. — Wednesday, arrived at s'd 
Court in the evening, & had an interview 
with Adley Ozborn, the second man 
found in the province, whom I had seen 

April 20.— -Took the Oaths and had 
some business. 

April 21. — Tried 2 causes and had a fit 
of the Ague & fever. 

April 22. — Saturday, the Court broke 

April 23.— Heard the Rev'd Mr. Alex- 

♦See Revolutionary History of North Caroli- 
na, compiled by Wm. D. Cooke, pp. 110-11. 


April 24. — Monday, set out for Tryon 
Court, 40 W. crossed the Catawba R. and 
lodged at one Robinsons. 

April 25. — This being a new County, 
the first commission of the Peace was 
opened, and the Justices, as likewise all 
officers of the Court took the State Oaths 
and qualified de novo. 

April 27.— After little or no business 
the Court broke up, and the same evening 
rode 16m. 

April 28. — Crossed the Catawba River, 
, met Mr. Halsey at Hopewell, and heard 
him preach. 

After which rode home with Hezekiah 
Alexander, with whom I the next morn- 
ing agreed for a year's Board, at the rate 
of 12 pounds for 8 months, making al- 
lowance if I should not be there so long 
in the year. 

L April 29 & 30.— Met Dunn & Martin, 
in whose company set out for Salisbury 
which we reached Sunday evening. 

May 1. — Salisbury. 

" 2. — Mr. Halsey arrived in Town, 
waited upon him, and rode with him 10m. 
on his journey. 

May 3. — Rode 15m. more, took leave 
of Mr. Halsey and returned into Salisbu- 
ry the same evening. 

May 4. — Took up my lodging at Mr. 
Troy's, at the rate of £20 a year, deduct- 
ing absence. 

May 5 & 6. — Read Voltair's History of 
' Europe. 

May 7. — Sunday and Monday slightly 

May 9. — Tuesday, Court of Quarter 
Sessions for Rowan County, opened at 
Salisbury, the usual place of holding 

May 10 & 11. — "Went on with busi- 

May 12. — Appear'd against John Fla- 
nigan who, m the course of a long trial, 
was found guilty of petty Larciny, and 
rec'd 25 lashes on the bare back. 

May 13. — Appear'd against a woman 

who, after a full hearing, was cleared of 
the charge of petty Larciny, for stealing 
9 dollars. Same evening, the Court broke 
up without entering upon the civil Doc-» 

May 14.— Sunday. Kept House. 
" 15.— Rode out 2m. to see Col. Fro- 
hock's* plantation and house, the most 
elegant and large within 100 miles. 

May 16. — Rode out 5m. to Dunns moun- 
tain, in order to enjoy an entensive pros- 
pect of the Country, which we according- 
ly obtained. 

May 17.— Wednesday, Rode to Caudle 
Creek, 20m. W. Lodged at Colonel Oz- 

May 18.— Thursday, Visited the Bra- 


May 19. 

May 20.- 
'• 21.- 

May 22. 

-Friday, Went to Caruth's 

-Went to John Dickie's. 
-Heard the Rev'd Mr. Little 

Went to my Quarters in 
Spent the week in close stu- 
dy upon Fitzherbert's Natura Prevmm. 
May 28.— Sunday, heard the Rev'd Mr. 
Joseph Alexander. 

May 29^ — Spent reading Law close. 

« 30*&31.— At Home. 
June 1, 2 & 3.— Law yet. 

" 4.— Sunday, heard Sermon. 
June 5. — Set out for Tryon, in company 
with Ezekiel Polkf the Clerk of that 
Court ; crossed the Catawba River, and 
lodged at Col. Neal's. 


June 6. — Attended the meeting of Com- 
missioners, who were appointed to choose 
out a place for the Court. 

June 7.— Traveled W. b N. 25m. over. 

'See Revolutionary History of N. Carolina 
p. 17. 

tThe father of Samuel Polk, and the grand 
father of James K. Polk, the 10th President of 
the United States. 



mountains to Broad River, nigh which in 
my way, passed over a high peak from 
' whence got a sight of the great and enor- 
mous Apalachian Hills, which tho' at the 
distance of near 40 miles show'd the most 
romantic hights. 

June 8. — At Lawyer Forsythe's & read 
the Statutes at Large. 

June 9. — Travelled homeward. 
" 10. — Met a gathering to choose 
military officers. Crossed the Catawba. 

June 12. — Came home. From this 
time to the Second Day of July, I applied 
j myself closely to reading Neal's History of 
the Puritans. 

July 2. — Sunday. Set out for Salisbu- 
ry at which place I spent the week read- 
ing Voltair's History of Europe. 

July 9. — Sunday. Set out for Anson 
Court, in company with Dunn. 

July 10. — Rode from Fulwiders to Cole- 
son's , Rode from Coleson's to the Court 
House. In the course of this week I was 
A chosen by the Court to act as King's At- 
torney, in the absence of him in Commis- 
- sion, and rec'd £3 Crown and Clients Fees. 
July 15. — Rode to Coleson's after Court 
broke up. 

July 16.— Rode to Fulwider'g. 
*' 17. — Came into Salisbury. 
" 18. — This day came on the gener- 
al Election of Burgesses, for the County 
of Rowan, and Borough of Salisbury ; for 
which Mayor Dunn was chosen hj a great 

July 19, 20, 21, 22.— Before Day, Dunn 
& myself set for Mecklenb'g Court, where 
we arrived in the evening. Here also I 
acted as King's Attorney, took near £4 
Fees, & got in some more business. 
July 23. — Sunday, heard Sermon. 
" 24.— Set out for Tryon Court. 
" 25. — Came on the Election of Bur- 
gesses for the County of Tryon — heard 
, much caballing; saw much bruising, 
Goughing & Biting ; ended the Day with 
a fit of Ague and Fever. 

July 26. — Was chosen King's Attor- 

July 27. — Convicted a man of Sabbath- 

July 28. — Convicted one Armstrong of 
petty Larciny, & got Judgment and Exe- 
cution of the Law of Moses upon him, 
(viz.) forty, save one. 

July 29. — Saturday, Court broke up, 
and we travelled Homeward, as far as 
John Price's, & was very ill. 

July 30 & 31. — Confined with the Ague 
and Fever. 

August 1, 2, 3. — Confined at home with 
the Ague and Fever. 

Aug. 4. — Friday. Set out for Rowan 
Court, and came into Salisbury the same 

Aug. 5 & 6. — Lay by. 
" 7.— Read. 

" 8. — Tuesday, Court opened. 
■' 9. — Wed'y, appeared for Luke 
Vickery who was convicted of petty Lar j 
ciny, and ordered to receive 39 the next 

Aug. 10. — Appeared for younger Neal, 
who was honored with 25. 

Aug. 11. — Confined at Home, except a 
small brush with Major' Dunn about the 
mode of swearing in Court. 

Aug. 12. — Appear'd for one Paul Cros- 
by charged with petty Larciny. Was op- 
posed by all the Atty's at the Bar in this 
as well as every other cause this term. 

This cause was opened by Col. Spencer 
who spoke an Hour & 11 minutes. Then 
I answered him, & spoke to all the Law 
& Evidence, that any way affected the 
Cause at Bar, in an Hour & 5 minutes. — 
Major Dunn closed with a plea or rather 
loose Declamation, 3 Hours & 17 min- 
utes. When the Jury went out and soon 
returned their verdict, not guilty. And 
immediately I was surrounded with a 
flood of Clients and employed this term 
in no less than 30 Actions. 

Aug. 13. — From the 13 to the 28, spent 
in reading Voltairs History of Europe, 
and Smollett's History of England. 

Aug. 28. — Monday, set out for Meck- 



Aug. 29. — Went to the general muster 
at Charlotte ; the Court House & capital 
of Meck'g County. 

Aug 30 & 31.— Spent in reading. 


September 1. — From the 1 to the 4 lay 
at home reading. 

Sep. 4. — Set out for Salisbury Superior 


Sep. 5. — Came into Town and spoke 
with the Associate Judges who opened 
Court, and adjourned. 

From the 6 to the 15, the Court sat, 
did Business, and I got Clients. 

Sep. 17. — Set out for Mecklenb'g. 
" 18.— Got Home. 


Sep. 26.— "Went to David Rees's. 
'• 27. — Plotted a piece of Land for 

Sep. 28. — Wrote a Deed for him to his 

Sep. 29.— Went to James Wylie's the 
high Sheriff of the County. 
Sep. 30.— Got Home. 
October 1, 2, 3, 4 & 5.— Read Smol- 

Oct. 6 & 7 '.—Similiter. 
" 7. — Set out for Anson Court by 
way of Salisbury — arrived in Town the 
same evening. 

Oct. 8. — Sunday, went to Fulwider's. 
" 9. — Monday, to Coleson's. 
" 10. — Tuesday to Court which was 
opened and proceeded to business. 

Oct. 11, 12, 13 & 14.— Employed for 3 
Criminals for which was to have . . . 

Oct. 15. — Sunday. Set out for Home 
and lodged at Philips's. 

Oct. 16. — Came to Steward's. 
V 17. — Came home to Breakfast, & 
then to Meck'g Court. 

Oct. 18, 19, 20 & 21.— Attended Court 
& tried Causes. 

Oct. 22. — Sunday, went to hear ser- 

Oct. 23.— Set out for Tryon Court. 
" 24, 25, 26 & 27.— Attended Court 
& saw the most Bruises that ever was 

Oct. 28. — Spoke for nothing and got a 
good Fee. Cage vs. Anderson. 

Came from Tryon, crossed the Catawba 
River, & lodged at Wm. Barnet's. 

Oct. 29. — Sunday, went to sermon, and 
from thence home. 

November 3. — Friday. Set out for Sa- 
lisbury, to Rowan Court, and got in late. 

Nov. 4. — Saturday Morning went out 
to Justin Ford's, lodged at Wm. Fro- 

Nov. 5.— Sunday, stayed at George M. 

Nov. 6. — Monday, ruturned into Town. 

Nov. 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12 & 13.— Spent 
in reading Law. 


Nov. 14. — Court opened and chose me 
to act for the King in the room of Major 
Dunn, who was at the Assembly. 

Nov. 15, 16, 17 & 18.— The Court was 
filled with jars and bustle — did little or 
no public business and broke up. 

Nov. 19 & 20. — Lay by to make up & 
Docket of the new Writs which I had is- 

Nov. 21.— Set out for Phifer's. 
" 22. — Swam Rocky River and got 

Nov. 23, 24 & 25.— Read Godbolt's Re- 

Nov. 26. — Sunday, went to Sermon. 
" 27.— Went to Col. Harriss. 
" 28. — Came back again. 
" 29 & 30.— Read Godbolt, & heard 

December 1. — Went with James Cald- 
well to Steel Creek, and heard him preach. 

Dec. 2. — Went from Adam Caruth's 
to Brown's. 

Dec. 3. — Sunday. Sermon at Steel 
Creek, and lodged at John Price's. 




Dec. 4. — Monday, heard sermon & came 

Dec. 5. — Went to Providence 15m. on 
my way to Charleston 200, nearly S. met 
Mi". Caldwell, heard Sermon, and lodged 
at Given 's. » 

Dec. 6. — Went 26m. to the Waxhaws, 
and lodged at Parson Richardsons*. 


Dec. 7. — Went 37m. to Suttons. 
" 8. — Went to Pine Tree and thence 
continued on our way to the high hills of 
Santee, & lodged at Miss James'. 

Dec. 9. — Saturday. Continued on our 
way 20m. Dined at Col. Richardsons and 
stayed all night. 

Dec. 10. — Sunday, the Col. having sent 
a boy to give notice of Sermon near San- 
tee Ferry, we went forward early and rode 
this 15m. before service. To-day & the 
day after, Mr. Caldwell preached with 
great applause. After Sermon went from 
Major Nelson's to Capt. Boshers. 

Dec. 12. — Crossed Santee Ferry & 15 
m. to Whittens. 

Dec. 13. — Breakfasted at Monk's Cor- 
ner 12m., rode 10 to Husks and dined, 
and then rode 23m. into Charleston. 

Dec. 14, 15 & 16. — Viewed the town, 
did some little business, and got private 

Dec. 17. — Sunday, heard Mr. Caldwell 
preach twice to a crowded audience, who 
highly commended both the matter and 
the manner. 

Dec. 18. — Monday, left Charleston at 
the ten m. House, and lodged at Monks 

Dec. 19.— Rode 23m. to Breakfast- 
turning off the usual road to Murry's Fer- 
ry, 20m. below it we crossed in our way 
down — here we had 7m. to go in a boat 
thro' a hideous Cypress Swamp — where- 

as the usual place at Nelson's is only 3, 
but neither are above 1-2 a m., except in 

Dec. 20. — Rode from Wm. Richborgs 

Dec. 21. — Rode from R. to Miss James's 

Dec. 22.— Went to Pine Tree, 25m. 
where is a great Store, that has long been 
kept by Kershaw & Co., and is a Great 
Mart for (the back part of North as well 
as South Carolina. Refreshed myself 
here and rode 7m. to Sutton's. 

Dec. 23. — Saturday, rode 40 to Davis's 
in N. Carolina. 

Dec. 24. — Sunday. Dined at Givens's, 
and lodged at Thomas Harriss's. 

Dec. 25. — Got home and went to Char- 

Dec. 26.— Read Law & fill up Writs. 

Dec, 27. — Waited upon Parson Josiah 
Lewis to Providence. 

Dec. 28.— Went to Mr. Bradley's. 
" 29.— Got home. 
" 30.— Reading. 
" 31.— A Sermon. 

*The uncle and patron of Gen. Wm. Rich- 
ardson Davie. 


RIAGE ACTS, 1769. 

To his Excellency William Tryon, Es- 
quire, Captain General, Governor and 
Commander in Chief, in and over the 
Province of North Carolina, &c. 

To the Honourable his Majesty's Coun- 

To the Honourable Speaker, and Gen- 
tlemen of the House of Burgesses for said 

The Petition and address of the inhabi- 
tants of Mecklenburg county, of the Pres- 
byterian denomination humbly sheweth : 

That we claim it as our incontestable 
right, to petition the Legislature of this 
Province for redress of grievances. 

We, therefore, beg leave freely to re- 
present our case, trusting to your candour 
and uprightness, to redress our grievances, 
I maintain our rights and privileges, and 
prevent all infraction of the same. 


We would inform that there are about 
one thousand freemen of us, who hold to 
the established church of Scotland able 
to bear arms, within the county of Meck- 

We declare ourselves faithful and loyal 
subjects, firmly attached to his present 
Majesty and the government, ready to 
defend his Majesty's dominions from hos- 
tile invasions. 

We declare ourselves zealous to support 
Government, and uphold the Courts 
of Justice, that the law may have its free 
course and operation : And we appeal to 
his Excellency, the Governor, how ready 
and cheerful we were to support Govern- 
ment, in time of insurrection. 

We declare ourselves entitled to have 
and enjoy all the rights and privileges of 
his Majesty's subjects in Great Britain, 
to-wit : England or Scotland. 

In the great Charter, his Majesty con- 
firms to his subjects removing from Great 
Britain into this Province and their des- 
cendants, all the rights, privileges, fran- 
chises and immunities, to which his Ma- 
jesty's subjects in Great Britain, to-wit : 
England and Scotland are entitled : And 
instructed the Lord's Proprietors to grant 
other and greater religious privileges to 

When settled under these assurances of 
liberty, and the. quiet and peaceable en- 
joyment of religious rites, secured to us by 
law, by the Charter and by his Majesty's 
instructions to the Lords Proprietors ; we 
think it a grievance that we are liable to 
a burthensome taxation to support an 
Episcopal clergy. 

We would by no means cast reflection 
upon our sister church of England ; no, 
let them worship God according to their 
consciences, without molestation from us. 
We ask on our part, that we may worship 
God according to our consciences without 
molestation from them. 

We think it as reasonable that those 
who hold to the Episcopal church should 
Vol. IV.— No. 17. 

pay their clergy without our assistance as 
that we, who hold to the church of Scot- 
land should pay our clergy without their 

We now support two settled Presbyte- 
rian ministers in this Parish ; we, there- 
fore, think it a grievance, that the present 
law makes us liable to be still further 
burthened with taxes to support an Epis- 
copal clergyman : especially as not one- 
twentieth part < of the inhabitants are of 
that profession. 

We think that were there an Episcopal 
clergyman in this Parish, his labours 
would be useless. 

We think ourselves highly aggrieved by 
the exorbitant power of the vestry, to tax 
us with the enormous sum often shillings 
each taxable ; which is more than double 
the charge of Government : And that for 
purposes to which we ought by no means 
to pay any thing by compulsion. 

We, therefore, think that under the 
present law, the very being of a vestry in 
this Parish, will ever be a great griev- 

We further think, that were the coun- 
ties of Rowan, Mecklenburg and Tryon 
wholly relieved from the grievances of the 
marriage act and vestry acts, it would 
greatly encourage the settlement of the 
Frontiers, and make them a stronger bar- 
rier to the interior parts of the Province 
against a savage enemy. 

We conceive ourselves highly injured 
and agrieved by the marriage act, the 
preamble whereof scandalizes the Presby- 
terian clergy, and wrongfully charges 
them with celebrating the rites of mar- 
riage without license or publication of 

We think it a grievance, that this act 
imposes heavy penalties on our clergy, 
for marrying after publication of banns 
by them made, in their own religious as- 
semblies, where the parties are best 

We declare that the marriage act tfb- 



structs the natural and inalienable right 
of marriage and tends to introduce immo- 

We declare it subjects many to several 
inconveniences, one whereof is going into 
South Carolina to have the ceremony per- 

We pray that the preamble of the same 
act may be rescinded ; and that our min- 
isters and magistrates may be freed from 
the penalties thereof, they respectively 
conforming to the Confession of faith. 

We pray that we may be relieved from 
the grievance of the vestry acts and the 
acts for supporting the Episcopal cler- 

. We pray that, to these several griev- 
ances, you will in your wisdom and good- 
ness grant that redress, which we ask in 
this legal and constitutional method. 

And we assure your Excellency, your 
Honours of the Council, the Honoura- 
ble Speaker, and Gentlemen of the House 
of Burgesses, that we shall ever be more 
ready to support that Government under 
which we find most liberty. 

Your petitioners as in duty bound shall 
ever pray, &c. 



On the 12th April, 1776, the Provincial 
Congress of North Carolina instructed our 
delegates in the Continental Congress, to 
declare Independence, and on the follow- 
ing day appointed a committee " to pre- 
pare a temporary civil constitution." The 
committee seem to have reported on the 
25th, and the Congress to have assigned 
the following day for the consideration of 
the constitution. No further notice ap- 
pears upon the Journals until the 11th 
May, when, " on motion, the House re- 
solved itself into a committee of the whole, 
to take into consideration a civil tempora- 
ry constitution." A series of resolutions 
were adopted, placing all the powers of 
government in the hands of a Council of 

Safety, consisting of one person chosen 
by ballot, by that Congress, and two per- 
sons by each district, to continue in of- 
fice "from the end of this session, until 
the meeting of the next Congress." 

On the 9th August, the Council of Safe- 
ty "met according to adjournment. 

" The Representatives of the United 
States of America, in General Congress 
assembled, at Philadelphia, the 4th day 
of July, 1776, having determined that the 
thirteen United Copies are free and inde- 
pendent States, and in consequence there- 
of have published a Declaration of Inde- 
pendence : 

"Resolved, That it be recommended to 
the good people of this now independent 
State of North Carolina, to pay the great- 
est attention to the election to be held on 
the 15th day of Oetooer next, of delegates 
to represent them in Congress, and to 
have particularly in view this important 
consideration : that it will be the business 
of the delegates then chosen, not only to 
make laws for the good government of, 
but also to form a constitution for this 
State ; that this last as it is the corner- 
stone of all law, so it ought to be fixed 
and permanent ; and that according as it 
is well or ill ordered, it must tend in the 
first degree to promote the happiness or 
misery of the State." 

" Resolved, also, That it be recommend- 
ed to the inhabitants of this State to elect 
five delegates, properly qualified for each 
county, to sit and vote in the next Con- 
gress, as business of vast importance 
will come before them." 

These proceedings of the Provincial 
Congress in April and Maj^, 1776, and of 
the Council of Safety in August, taken in 
connection with the following instruc- 
tions from the people of Mecklenburg and 
Orange to their delegates, indicate much 
greater deliberation and preconcert, on 
the part of the leading men in the 
State, than have ordinarily been attribut- 
ed to the framers of the constitution, and 



entitle the instrument, to greater respect 
and reverence than it has in some in- 
stances received. The Mecklenburg in- 
structions are substantially from the pen 
of Col. Avery, those from the people of 
Orange, are entirely in the hand writing 
of Governor Burke. They were both 
members of the committee that framed 
the constitution, and it was to the latter 
that John Adams had communicated his 
celebrated, " Thoughts on Government." 
The autograph of Mr. Adams, is among 
the archives of the Historical Society of 
the University of North Carolina. 

The general coincidence, and actual 
identity in several instances, of the Meck- 
lenburg and Orange resolutions, will es- 
cape the attention of no one. Whether 
instructions of a similar character, were 
given to most or to all the delegates of 
the other counties in the State, is an in- 
teresting enquiry, which we fear no one 
is able to answer. The existence of these 
prepared by Avery and Burke was un- 
known to us until recently, and they are 
now published for the first time. 



At a general Conference of the inhabi- 
tants of Mecklenburg assembled at the 
Court House on tbe fust day of Novem- 
ber, 1776, for the express purpose of 
drawing up instructions for the present 
Representatives in Congress ; the follow- 
ing were agreed to by the assent of the 
people present and ordered to be signed 
by John M. Alexander, Chairman, chosen 
to preside for the day in said Conference. 

To Waightstill Avery, Hezekiah Alex- 
ander, John Phifer, Robert Erwin and 
Zacheus Wilson, Esquires : 

Gentlemen, you are chosen by the in- 
habitants of this county to serve them in 
Congress or General Assembly for one 
year ; and they have agreed to the fol- 
lowing Instructions, which you are to ob- 

serve with the strictest regard, viz : you 
are instructed. 

1. That you shall consent to and ap- 
prove the Declaration of the Continental 
Congress declaring the thirteen united 
colonies free and independent States. 

2. That you shall endeavour to estab- 
lish a free Government under the authori- 
ty of the people in the State of North 
Carolina, and that the Government be a 
simple Democracy or as near it as possi- 

3. That in fixing the fundamental prin- 
ciples of Government you shall oppose 
every thing that leans to aristocracy ; or 
power in the hands of the rich and chief 
men exercised to the oppression of the 

4. That you shall endeavour that the 
form of Government shall set forth a bill 
of rights containing the rights of the peo- 
ple and of individuals ; which shall never 
be infringed in any future time by the 
law-making power or other derived pow- 
er or other derived powers in the State. 

5. That you shall endeavour that the 
following maxims be substantially ac- 
knowledged in the Bill of Rights, (viz :) 

1st. Political power is of two kinds, 
one principal and superior, the other de- 
rived and inferior. 

2d. The principal supreme power is 
passed by the people at large ; the derived 
and inferior power by the servants which 
they employ. 

3d. Whatever persons are delegated, 
chosen, employed and intrusted by the 
people are their servants, and can possess 
only derived inferior power. 

4th. Whatever is constituted and ordain- 
ed by the principal supreme* power can 
not be altered, suspended or abrogated by 
any other power ; but the same power 
that ordained may alter, suspend and ab- 
rogate its own ordinances. 

5th. The rules whereby the derived in- 
ferior power is to be exercised are to be 
constituted by the principal supreme pow- 



er, and can be altered, suspended and ab- 
rogated by the same and no other. 

6th. No authority can exist or be exer- 
cised but what shall appear to be ordain- 
ed and created by the principal supreme 
power, or by derived inferior power which 
the principal supreme power hath author- 
ized to create such authority. 

7th. That the derived inferior power 
can by no construction or pretence as- 
sume or exercise a power to subvert the 
principal supreme power. 

6. That you shall endeavour that the 
Government shall be so formed that the 
derived inferior power shall be divided 
into three branches, distinct from each 
other viz : 

The power of making laws ; 

The power of executing laws ; and 

The power of judging. 

7. That the law-making power shall 
have full and ample authority, for the 
good of the people to provide legal reme- 
dies for all evils and abuses that may arise 
in the State ; the executive power shall 
have authority to apply the legal reme- 
dies ; when the judging power shall have 
ascertained where and upon what individ- 
uals the remedies ought to be applied. 

8. You shall endeavour that in the ori- 
ginal constitution of the Government now 
to be formed, the authority of Officers 
possessing any branch of derived power 
shall be restrained ; for example. 

9. The law-making power shall be re- 
strained in all future time from making 
any alteration in the form of Govern- 

10. You shall endeavour that the per- 
sons in whose hands the law-making pow- 
er shall be lodged shall be formed into 
two Houses or Assemblies, independent 
of each other, but both dependent on the 
people, (viz:) 

A Council and General Assembly. 

11. You shall endeavour that the good 
people of this State shall be justly and 
equally represented in the two Houses ; 

that the Council shall consist of at least 
thirteen persons, twelve of whom shall be 
annually chosen by the people in the sev- 
eral districts ; and that every person who 
has a right to vote for members of the 
General Assembly shall also have a right- 
to vote for members of Council, and that 
the Council and General Assembly shall 
every year at their first meeting form one 
body for the purpose of electing a Gov- 
ernor, who shall then be chosen by bal- 
lot ; and that the Governor by virtue of 
his office shall be a member of Council ; 
but shall never vote in Council on the 
subject of making laws, unless when the 
Council are divided ; in which case the 
Governor shall have the casting vote. 

12. That the law-making power shall 
be lodged in the hands of one General 
Assembly composed of Representatives 
annually chosen by the people freely and 
equally in every part of the State accord- 
ing to . 

13. N. B. Considering the long time 
that would be taken up and consequent 
delay of business, the choice of a Council 
by the people, would at this time occa- 
sion ; it is thought best for the dispatch 
of public business and this county do as- 
sent that after the form of Government 
shall be agreed to by the people, the pre- 
sent delegates in Congress shall resolve 
themselves into a General Assembly for 
one year ; and that they choose 12 per- 
sons inhabitants residing in the several 
districts to form a Council and the persons 
so chosen shall be possessed of all the 
powers of a Council for one year as fully 
as if chosen by the people. 

14. You shall endeavour that no officer 
of the regular troops or collector of pub- 
lic money shall be eligible as a member 
of General Assembly ; or if being elected 
he shall afterwards accept of such office 
or collectorship he shall thereby vacate 
his seat And in general that no persons 
in arrears for public money shall have a 
seat in General Assembly. 



15. You shall endeavour that the dele- 
gates to represent this State in any future 
Continental Senate shall never be appoint- 
for longer time than one year and shall 
not be capable to serve more than three 
years successively ; and that the Council 
and General Assembly shall have power 
to appoint the said delegates for one year 
and give them instructions and power to 
bind this State in matters relating to 
peace and war, and making treaties for 
that purpose with Foreign Powers and 
also for the purposes of General Trade 
and Commerce of the United States. 

16. You shall endeavour that all Trea- 
surers and Secretaries for this State shall 
be annually appointed by the General As- 

17. You shall endeavour that all Judges 
of the Court of Equity, Judges of the 
Court of Appeals and Writs of Error, and 
all Judges of the Superior Courts shall be 
appointed by the General Assembly and 
hold their offices during one year. 

18. You shall endeavour that Trials by 
Jury shall be forever had and used in 
their utmost purity. 

19. You shall endeavour that any per- 
son who shall hereafter profess himself to 
be an Atheist or deny the Being of God ; 
or shall deny or blaspheme any one of the 
persons of the Holy Trinity; or shall de- 
ny the divine authority of the old and 
New Testament, or shall be of the Roman 
Catholic-religion, shall not sustain, hold 
or enjoy any office of trust or profit in the 
State of North Carolina. 

20. That in all times hereafter no pro- 
fessing christian of any denomination 
whatever shall be compelled to pay any 
tax or duty towards the support of the 
clergy or worship of any other denomina- 

21. That all professing christians shall 
enjoy the free and undisturbed exercise 
of religion and may worship God accord- 
ing to their consciences without restraint, 
except idolatrous worshippers. 

22. You shall endeavour that the form 
of Government when made out and agreed 
to by the Congress shall be transmitted 
to the several counties of this State to be 
considered by the people at large, for 
their approbation and consent if they shall 
choose to give it ; to the end that it may 
derive its force from the principal supreme 

After the Constitution and form of Gov- 
ernment shall be agreed upon and estab- 
lished; the General Assembly formed you 
shall endeavour that they may exercise 
the law-making power on the following 
subjects of legislation, (viz :) 

1. You shall endeavour to have all ves- 
try laws and marriage acts heretofore in 
force totally and forever abolished. 

2. You shall endeavour to obtain an 
attachment law providing for creditors a 
full and ample remedy against debtors 
who run away to avoid payment. 

3. You shall endeavour to obtain an 
appraisement law for the relief of the 
poor, when their goods are sold by exe- 

4. You shall endeavour to obtain a law 
to establish a College in this county, and 
procure a handsome endowment for the 

5. You shall endeavour to diminish the 
fees of clerks in the Superior and Inferior 
Courts, and make the Fee Bill more per- 
spicuous and clear it of all ambiguities. 

6. You shall endeavour to obtain a law, 
that Overseers may be elected annually 
in every county with power to provide for 
the poor. 

7. You shall endeavour to obtain a law 
to prevent clandestine marriages ; and 
that Gospel ministers regularly ordained, 
whether by Bishops, by Presbyteries or 
by association of regular ministers, shall 
have legal authority to marry after due 
publication of banns, where the parties 

8. You shall endeavour that all Judges 



and Justices may be iinpowered and re- 
quired by law to administer oaths with 
uplifted hand, when the party to be sworn 
shall desire that the same may be done 
without book. 

9. You shall endeavour to pass laws for 
establishing and immediately opening su- 
perior and inferior ©ourts. 

10. You shall endeavour to pass a law 
for establishing a Court of Equity. 

11. You shall endeavour to obtain a 
law for paying the Justices of the County 

12. You shall endeavour by law to in- 
force the attendance of the Judges in the 
Superior Court and in case of due attend- 
ance to make them allowance. 

13. You shall endeavour that so much 
of the Habeas Corpus Act and the com- 
mon and statute law heretofore in force 
and use and favorable to the liberties of 
the people shall be continued in force in 
this State excluding every idea of the 
kingly office and power. 

14:. That persons be chosen annually 
in every county to collect taxes. 

15. That a general and equal land tax 
be laid throughout the State. 

16. That people shall be taxed accord- 
ing to their estates. 

*17. That sheriff, clerk and register 
shall be chosen by the freeholders in eve- 
ry county ; the register to continue in of- 
fice during good behavior ; the sheriff to 
be elected every year. The same person 
to be capable to be elected every year if 
all mone3 r s due by virtue of his office 
shall be faithfully paid up. 

*18. That men shall be quieted in their 

* The instrument is in the well known sharp 
angular hand writing of Col. Avery, with the 
exception of these sections (17 and 18) which 
are in the small cramped hand of John McKnit 
Alexander. The signature J. McKnit, we re- 
collect to have heard the late Governor Stokes 
state was an abbreviation not unfrequently 
adopted by Mr. Alexander, instead of writing 

titles and possessions and that provision 
shall be made to secure men from being 
disturbed by old and foreign claims against 
their landed possessions. 

Test: J. McKNIT. 



We, the people of the county of Orange, 
who have chosen you to represent us in 
the next Congress of Representatives, 
delegated by the people of this State, re- 
quire you to take notice that the follow- 
ing are our instructions to you, which 
you are required to follow in every parti- 
cular with the strictest regard. 

First. We desire you to consider the 
following propositions as maxims, to 
which you and every other delegate shall 
plainly and implicitly subscribe and as- 
sent, and which are to be the foundation 
of all your following proceedings. 

1. Political power is of two kinds, one 
principal and supreme, the other derived 
and inferior. 

his name at length. Sections 10, 11, 13, it 
appears from a marginal note in the hand- 
writing of Mr. Alexander, were rejected by the 

01 the numerous questions which perplexed 
the minds oi statesmen, at that day with refer- 
ence to the structure of the government, there 
was none more keenly contested, than whether 
the Legislative power should be confided to a 
single assembly, or to a Sennte and House of 
Representatives. Doctor Franklin adopted the 
maxim, that as the will of the nation was one 
and indivisible, such should be the character of 
the Assembly that declared it. Pennsylvania 
and Georgia framed their Constitutions, in the 
first instance, upon this principle, and the people 
of Mecklenburg, seem to have concurred with 
them in sentiment. The excesses of a single 
unchecked assembly during the French revolu- 
tion produced such a universal change oi opin- 
ion upon the subject that the younger class of 
politicians seem to be scarcely aware, that any 
difference of opinion ever prevailed in relation 
to this fundamental principle. 


2. The principal supreme power is pos- 
sessed only by the people at large ; the 
derived and inferior power by the servants 
which they employ. 

3. Whatever persons are delegated, 
chosen, employed or intrusted by the peo- 
ple, are their servants, and can possess 
only derived inferior power. 

4. Whatever is constituted and ordain- 
ed by the principal supreme power can- 
not be altered, superseded or abrogated 
by any other, but the same power that 
ol|lained may alter, suspend or abrogate 
its own ordinances. 

5. The rules whereby the derived infe- 
rior power is to be exercised, are to be 
constituted by the principal supreme pow- 
er, and can be altered, suspended or abro- 
gated by the same and no other. 

6. No authority can exist or be exer- 
cised but what shall appear to be ordain- 
ed and created by the principal supreme 
power, or by some derived inferior pow- 
er, which the principal supreme power 
has authorized to create such authori- 


7. The derived inferior power can by 
no construction assume authority injuri- 
ous to or subversive of the principal su- 
preme power. 

Secondly. We require that the civil and 
religious constitution, which we appre- 
hend to contain the rules whereby the in- 
ferior derived power is to be exercised, be 
framed and prepared by the delegates, 
and be sent to every county to be laid be- 
fore the people for their assent, if the peo- 
ple shall think proper to give it — to the 
end that it may derive its authority from 
the principal supreme power, and be af- 
terwards alterable by that alone, agreea- 
ble to the fifth maxim before set down. 

Thirdly. We require that in framing 
the religious constitution, you insist upon 
a free and unrestrained exercise of relig- 
ion to every individual agreeable to that 
mode which each man shall choose for 
himself, and that no one shall be compel- 

led to pay towards the support of any 
clergyman except such as he shall choose 
to be instructed by ; and that every one, 
regularly called and appointed, shall have 
power to solemnize marriage under such 
regulations as shall be established by law 
for making the marriage contract notori- 
ous. Provided, however, persons who 
are intrusted in the discharge of any of- 
fice shall give assurances that they do not 
acknowledge supremacy ecclesiastical or 
civil in any foreign power, or spiritual 
infallibility or authority to grant the Di- 
vine Pardon to any person who may vio- 
late moral duties or commit crimes injuri- 
ous to the community — and we positively 
enjoin you that on no pretence you con- 
sent to any other religious constitution or 
that the establishing of this shall be 
waived, postponed or delayed. 

Fourthty. We require that in framing 
the civil constitution, the derived inferior 
power shall be divided into three branch- 
es, to-wit : The power of making laws, the 
power of executing, and the power of 

Fifthly. That the power of making laws 
shall have authority to provide remedies 
for any evils which may arise in the com- 
munity, subject to the limitations and re- 
straints provided by the principal supreme 

Sixthly. That by such limitations and 
restraints, they shall be prevented from 
making any alterations in the distribu- 
tion of po !?ejc, or of depriving any indi- 
vidual of his civil or natural rights, un- 
less by way of punishment for some de- 
clared offence,, clearly and plainly adjudg- 
ed against him by the judging power. 

Seventhly. That the executive power 
shall have authority to apply the reme- 
dies provided by the law-makers in that 
manner only which the laws shall direct, 
and shall be entirely distinct from the 
power of making laws. 

Eightly. That the judging power shall 
be entirely distinct from and independent 



of the law-making and executive pow- 

Ninthly. That no persons shall be ca- 
pable of acting in the exercise of any 
more than one of these branches at the 
same time, lest they should fail of being the 
proper checks on each other, and by their 
united influence become dangerous to any 
individual who> might oppose the ambiti- 
ous designs of the persons who might be 
employed in such powers. 

Tenthly. That in constituting the law- 
making power, the same be divided into 
two assemblies, each independent of the 

other and both dependent on the people. 

Eleventhly. That one assembly shall 
consist of Representatives chosen by all 
the freeholders and house-holders, and 
the other of Representatives chose by the 
freeholders only. 

Twenthly. That all elections shall be 
by Ballot. 

Thirteenthly. That in constituting the 
executive power, the same be made elec- 
tive every year, and that no persons shall 
be capable of serving therein more than 
three years, or capable of being elected 
thereto until he has been three years out. 


I love the rugged hill — the spot 

That caught my earliest glance, 
That lured me from my mother's cot 

And did all my joys enhance. 
In the blissful days of childhood, 

I sought its shady bowers, 
Its dark and deep-tangled wildwood 

Its purling brooks— its flowers. 
The stern old forest on its brow, 

In pride waved to and fro, 
In high disdain it seemed to bow 

To humbler things below. 
The rivulet leapt adown its side 

And laughed in all its glee, 
My heart leap't up in joy and pride, 

To see it wild and tree. 
Prom a carpet rich of varied dye, 

Which did this spot enshroud ; 
Listless I lay and watched the sky, 

And the golden floating cloud. 
From the shadowy days by-gone, 

Come memories buried long ; 
The sweetest live distinct alone, 

And round my cottage throng. 
The earliest rays of rising sun 

Silver the oaks of my hill ; 
The last beams — when his race is run 

Play around it still. 
So, the first affections of my heart, 

Are linked with this loved spot ; - 
4 nd memory's rays, that lost depart 

Shall cling to my boyhood's cot. 
Chapel Hill, June 1st, 1855. 

Farewell ! by thee forsaken, 
Joy's lingering ray is o'er, 
This heart ca ■ ne'er awaken 
To one bright moment more. 

The hopes my soul had cherished, 
Have withered one by one, 
And since life's flowers have perished, 
I am left to linger on. 

The clouds of early sorrow, 
Hung heavy on my brow, 
No sun bursts of to-morrow 
Can brighten o'er it now. 

My broken lute alone 
Remains my grief to tell, 
And thus its parting tone 
Can only say — Farewell ! 

" I've something sweet to tell thee," 

An echo from the heart, 
Of one who e'er will bless thee, 

Till life itself shall part, 
The slender thread which binds me 

To this troubled sphere of ours ; 
Enchanted in thy presence — 

As Eden's rosy bowers. 

" I've something sweet to tell thee," 

The zephyr's gentle voice, 
From its volcanic hold, 

Eastward, to its goal, 
Will bear the fiery, burning, 

Melting lava of my soul; 
To thine ears my gentle Haidee, 

To sadden, or console. NISUS. 




So many opinions have been advanced 
concerning the tendencies, effects and pro- 
bable results of the war which has so 
long disturbed, and is still disturbing the 
quietude of the Old World, and which 
must occupy a distinguished place in the 
annals of the nineteenth century, that the 
subject will hardly admit of discussion ; 
and he who introduces it, is not credited 
for much originality. Yet waiving all 
conjectures of the result, which past events 
and present circumstances seem to involve 
in so much mystery, we wish merely to 
show the true relation of America to the 
belligerent parties and give the proper 
direction to American sympathy. 

Placed as we are in unembarrassed 
neutrality, bound by no covenant save 
that of justice, no pledges to redeem and 
no grievances to redress, we may look 
with proud security, but not with utter 
indifference upon struggling nations. — 
Calmly sitting " above the storm's career" 
clothed with the garments of our own 
sovereignty, and untouched by the waves 
of faction, we are yet alive to admiration, 
feeling and reverence and look with inter- 
est on the scene. Each party has its own 
advocates, and the display of ingenuity in 
the siege of Sebastopol is rivaled by the 
array of wit and stratagem produced by 
American critics. That this war will af- 
fect seriously the situation of Europe and 
even of the world, none will deny. That 
questions are now involved upon the issue 
of which depend the conditions of masses 
of mankind is easily to be perceived. Tet 
there seems to be a point of difference 
with Americans as on which party to lav- 
ish their good wishes, whether the grasp- 
ing, monopolizing Russia, or the jealous 
and conservative Western Powers. 

Being as it is, a dispute between crown- 

ed heads upon a mere matter of despotic 
possession, liberty in Europe can hardly 
have a claim on either result, for as yet, 
there is no demonstration on either side 
towards the amelioration of the condition 
of the people. Power, rule and extension 
are the issues of the strife, and, although 
that word, freedom, which is made a siren 
song to so many mortals, is held up as the 
watchword and battle cry, it must by no 
means be considered as the "vox populi" 
or an evidence of justice. The question 
then is reduced to this point, would the 
United States be benefited by the preser- 
vation or overthrow of the balance of pow- 
er in Europe? If the Allies prevail, the 
"status quo" is maintained and no innova- 
tion, no radical changes are to be feared. 
Even, though they should have an incli- 
nation to conquest, a sense of their own 
interests to repair the injuries of war, 
and attention to home affairs, will render 
it impossible or at least inexpedient, to 
gratify it. England involved in pecuniary 
liabilities to an extent almost equivalent 
to insolvency, and France with its bosom 
yet bleeding by its own frightful dissen- 
sions and the voice of anarchy hardly 
subdued, must pause in the hour of vic- 
tory, to bind up wounds and restore health 
to the body politic. Turkey whose sov- 
ereignty has so long been doubtful and 
exists now only in name, must sooner or 
later be blotted from the list of nations, 
and the benighted doctrines of the Koran 
must give way to the bright and holy laws 
of the Bible. The sound of the muezzin 
proclaiming a miserable heresy to delu- 
ded minds and fastening the veil of bar- 
barism which has so long hung o'er the 
Eastern horizon, will soon be heard no 
more, and the voice which cries "there is 
but one God and Mohammed is his pro- 



phet," must change its tone and proclaim, 
" there is but one God and Jesus is his 

It is then easily to be seen that Eussia 
is the only power to be dreaded. With 
Colossean strides she has been advancing, 
and, starting from the cold, bleak and 
. barren regions of the Arctic pole, she has 
laid her ruthless hand upon the sunny 
lands of the South and East, crushing, 
blighting desolating all. Possessing one 
seventh of the habitable globe, with six- 
ty millions of people for her subjects, she 
only reflects on this vast domain to be 
filled with a desire for more. Can Russia 
thus be a friend to liberty, to equality, to 
justice ? Would she by monopolizing the 
the whole of Europe, become more enlight- 
ening in her views, more liberal in her 
government or more tolerant to conquer- 
ed nations ? Let the fate of Poland, Hun- 
gary and Circassia answer. Let the sighs 
of a dying Kosciusko, the mournful elo- 
quence of despairing Kossuth and the 
wild efforts of nomadic Schamyl be taken 
as evidence, and some idea can be formed 
of the mildness of her sway. Look for 
liberty in Russia and you will find that 
its last warm breath was chilled by the 
snows of Siberia, or perished under the 
hellish torments of the knout. Look for 
justice and you will see it usurped by the 
by the sword and lost in the rear of the 
cannon. Seek for religion and will find 
as a substitute, a wretched, superstitu- 
tion, which, while it professes Christiani- 
ty is fashioned to the whims of an earth- 
ly potentate. Look for civilization, and 
while on a greater portion of Europe we 
see the blaze of noon day, we find there 
only the gloamings of early morn. 

This, then, is the nation that Americans, 
forgetful of their faith, sympathize with 
and bid "Godspeed!" Why is it? Is 
it prejudice to England, fear of France's 
Emperor, or jealousy towards both ? It 
is time to do away with old animosities ; 
let "by-gones be by-gones." Though 

memories of a struggle for independence, 
of England's crimes and cruelties raise 
feelings of anger in our bosoms, yet we 
should never forget that we owe her a 
small debt of gratitude, if for nothing else, 
at least for our existence. We have ma- 
ny kind feelings for the " mother coun- 
try," and cherish a veneration for her age 
and admiration for her glory, which can 
never be extinct. 'Tis the land of Hamp- 
den and of Nelson, of Byron and Shak- 
speare, and we would sink down with 
grief to see its classic halls polluted by 
the savage of the Volga, or the Tartar of 

Again : 'Tis said that the French Empe- 
ror is cunning, designing, intriguing. Be 
it so, and what need we fear from him. — 
Though he bears the name and blood of 
him who caused Europe to tremble and 
astonished the world, yet we see no pro- 
bability of the scenes of Marengo, Aus- 
terlitz and Iena being acted over ; and 
when we stood undaunted at the ac- 
tions of the one, we need not tremble be- 
fore the other. 

We come now to the conclusion that 
Europe must be "either Republican 
or Cossack," and if Russia is not checked 
in her advances, it must undoubtedly be- 
come the latter. Let France and Eng- 
land be defeated and the other powers be- 
come an easy conquest. Germany stands 
trembling before the power of Russia, 
ready to yield at a frown. Austria with 
its veterans, bows an humble suppliant at 
the will of the Czar, and Denmark, Swe- 
den and Norway could make no effectual 
resistance. Spain, feeble, dilapidated and 
corrupt as she is, would hardly raise a 
hand to defend her old body from the 
ravages of the conqueror, and Portugal 
would follow in her footsteps. Then 
conies up the question, would Russia con- 
tent with the sway of Europe, be limited ! 
in her possessions bj the Atlantic and i 
cast no wistful eye on this side of the wa- 1 
ter ? We are too well versed in human 



nature to hesitate to decide in the nega- 
tive. That spirit which began with Peter 
the Great is now burning with increased 
fervor in the bosoms of his descendants 
and longs for the rule of the world. 

Predictions have gone forth, that Rus- 
sia absorbing the Eastern Continent and 
the United States the Western, would be- 
come the two great nations of the earth. 
This event should be looked to with ma- 
ny misgivings rather than joy, for that 
two such powers should exist in amity 
towards each other, is utterly impossible. 
Their very strength would occasion dis- 
putes, and the business of the world 
would be war and bloodshed. The neigh 
of the Cossack's war horse might then be 
heard on the shores of America, and the 
flame of liberty, which has burned so 
brilliantly and gloriously in this Western 
World, be extingushed forever. If Rus- 

sia prevails, then there is much to be 
dreaded and nothing to be hoped for. — 
She cannot advance freedom, for she 
knows it not. She cannot advance the 
light of civilzation, for she, herself is as 
dark as midnight. She cannot .dissemi- 
nate religion, for she is no more christian 
than she is Pagan. She must be looked 
upon as a great giant priding himself in 
his physical force alone, with an eye sin- 
gle to conquest and dominion. She must 
be taught that there are limits to all hu- 
man power, and right must not always 
yield to might. Let her be content to re- 
main within her present boundaries, 
learn to respect the rights of her neigh- 
bors and endeavor to break away those 
clouds of ignorance and poverty which 
hang with Egyptian darkness over her 
unhappy children. 


There is perhaps no emotion in the 
nind of man so powerful as the desire of 
society, and no one of the various emo- 
ions which agitate and control the hu- 
nan mind has received so much attention 
rorn Philosophers and metaphysicians. 
While they have come, after many ages 
if bitter strife, to some determinate con- 
clusion in regard to the various affections 
;,nd desires which influence mankind, on 
'his point they yet differ very materially. 
HI agree that the desire of society is all- 
itowerful ; but whether- this desire is a 
isinterested or a selfish emotion they 
ave not determined conclusively. 
• While Hobbes and the followers of his 
,'3hool have by the most severe logic, 
i uilt up the selfish theory of morals ; 
.'hile they have delighted in representing 
, le natural state of man as one of all 
i gainst all : fathers against sons and sons 
gainst fathers — in short, whole families 
'.jparated and warring against each other; 

while they would teach us that disinter- 
ested affection is but a shadow which 
mankind have been forever grasping at, 
but have never succeeded in obtaining ; 
while they have disseminated and incul- 
cated doctrines which cannot but make us 
look upon our fellow-man with feelings 
near akin to contempt, Reid and Stewart, 
and those who follow their more refining 
and ennobling doctrines, have with equal- 
ly severe logic, and with far more force 
and beauty of expression, built up a theo- 
ry right the reverse. 

War, says Hobbes, and those who fol- 
low him, is the natural state of man. — ■ 
Assuming this as true, we are inevitably 
forced to adopt the conclusion to which 
this premise leads, viz : that there is no 
such thing as disinterestedness on earth, 
but on the contrary, all is selfishness. — 
But, that war is the natural state of man, 
we deny and no where have the advocates 
of the selfish system advanced proof suf- 



ficient to satisfy us that such is really the 
natural state of mankind. They have, 
we will admit established the fact — which 
no one ever questioned — that man in all 
ages and in every clime has been found 
in a state of warfare. The history of man- 
kind does indeed furnish a melancholy 
proof of the depraved state of man- 
kind from the creation of the world 
to the present age. But while we ad- 
mit that man has malevolent emotions, 
which lead him into every species of 
wickedness and folly, we assert that he 
has also benevolent emotions, which ele- 
vate, refine, and ennoble his soul. Says a 
distinguished writer, man is born in soci- 
ety and there he remains. Long before 
he has learned to sum and calculate the 
value of every seperate word and look of 
kindness ; long before we have learned 
to measure the general advantages which 
a spontaneous and ready kindness yields 
with that state of misery into which we 
%vould have been thrown, if there had 
been no society to receive us, we have 
formed innumerable affection. Each mo- 
ment of our lives these affections increase 
in extent and strength lor there is no mo- 
ment when the heart is so cold or callous 
as to reject the calls of sympathy and af- 
fection. Observe the infant in the arms 
of its nurse when another infant is pre- 
sented to it ; mark how its eyes sparkle 
and its features light up with joy. Long 
before the posibility of instruction or ha- 
bit they testify in the most unmistakea- 
ble manner their mutual attachment. — 
The whole animal creation demonstrate 
in the same conclusive manner the work- 
ings of that secret principle of association 
implanted in their hearts by their Crea- 

That necessity has a great deal to do in 
the formation of societies we will not deny. 
The child as he advances from infancy to 
manhood and from manhood to the grave 
becomes united to the members of the so- 
ciety in which he may have been born or 

reared not only by ties of affection, but 
also by ties of self-interest. He soon 
learns to mould his character to suit tht 
views of those, with whom he associates : 
to put on a smile when his heart is being 
consumed with gall ; to simulate any anc 
every position to gain his ends. But 
while he may thus learn to play the hy- 
pocrite, he can never suppress — nor doe? 
he ever wish to suppress the emotions oi 
friendship, and affection, which soothe 
him in times of trial, danger and difficul 
ty, as well as of peace and happiness.— 
However elevated, learned and wise 
however debased ignorant and foolish 
however miserable corrupt and profligat* 
he may appear to the world the love oi 
society still exists in his bosom and im 
pels him to seek out some congenial spir, 
it around whom he may entwine his ai 
fections. And what may I ask is the gii 
of language, but a proof that God intend 
ed we should unite in societies. Languag 
is said by those who maintain the selfis] 
theory of morals to be merely an instrU 
ment or vehicles by which we may makj 
known our wants and necessities. Bui 
how small a portion of our language i 
used for such a purpose ! Take from ou| 
language all the eloquent words of affecj 
tion and friendship, by which we intei 
change our thoughts when friends me^ 
friends in social converse; when witli 
drawn, from the busy and exciting worlq 
seated in the privacy of our homes, am 
surrounded by those we hold most deaj 
we engage in conversation and feel oil 
pulse thrill and our heart beat with emc 
tions at the eloquent tones of those w 
love: strip language of everything bv 
what is necessary to express oar wanti 
and how much would remain ? Why m 
more than you could hold in the palm < 
your hand. Yet such would undoubted 
ly be the result if the argument of nece 
sity be admitted in the extreme degre 
which men of the selfish school deman 
for it 



But to sum up, I think the whole argu- 
ment is not whether the natural state of 
man is war ; not whether he associates 
from motives of disinterestedness or sel- 
fishness, but whether God is a benevolent 
being. If we admit that He is such and 
that He created man, we are at liberty to 
infer that he would in his all-pervading 
benevolence endow man with emotions 

which would most contribute to his hap- 
piness and well being. And as experience 
demonstrates in the most unmistakeable 
manner that man is happier in society 
than out of it, we may reasonably con- 
clude that desire of society is a gift of God 
co existant with the creation of man and 
not the result of fortuitious circum- 
stances. MONTAGUE. 



Every man is to some extent a philoso- 
pher no matter what may be his condition 
m life. At first view, this assertion may 
appear to some presumptuous ; since we 
commonly consider those only, philoso 
phers who are most eminently conversant 
with the principles that explain phenom- 
3na. But a cursory view of the process 
in hand will show that nothing more is 
lere meant than the common acceptation 
)f the term implies. 

It must be admitted that happiness is 
he ultimate object of all our pursuits. — 
3ach one takes the road that he thinks 
vill conduct him most safely to the great- 
est source of temporal enjoyment ; some 
jhoose the wrong road and get disappoint- 
ing but all have their minds fixed upon 
fee same point of destination. But how 
»n happiness be obtained except by an 
daptation of means to ends. It is not 
Ml we have traced the various resem- 
blances and discrepances of phenomena, 

as to arrive at truth, that we can pre- 
set with any degree of certainty the va- 
ious relations of cause and effect. Truth 

i| the principles resulting from close com- 
arison and reflection upon particular 
• ases. It is simply another name for 

1 hilosophy and to philosophize every one 
mst do who would maintain his exis- 

The brute creation provide for their 

future wants in most cases without know- 
ing for what they toil. Notice the move- 
ments of the little bee on a fine spring 
morning. How lustily he first goes to 
work constructing his mathematical cell. 
This accomplished, how he flits from flow- 
er to flower returning to his little home, 
ever and anon, richly laden with provi- 
sions to be stored away for use in hard 
weather and in those seasons when they 
can not be had. Though this little crea- 
ture is making use of the most difficult 
principles, he is ignorant of the important 
results to which they lead. His life is 
secured by his own exertions, and he 
knows it not. With him, instinct is the 
governing principle. Not so with man ; 
his narrow vision scans the dark abyss 
of the future, foresees his wants, and reg- 
ulates his actions accordingly. The house 
is reared, the seeds sown, and the harvest 
garnered to suit the circumstances of his 
being. His condition is of various de- 
grees ;— progress marks his movements. 
Hence we see that man's necessities re- 
quire him to be a philosophical animal. 
But there is a principle within him that 
urges him further than his bare necessi- 
ties dictate ; curiosty invites him to ac- 
tive exercise, merely, that he may have 
the pleasure of conquering. Without 
this important mainspring, we would have 
no motive to exertion beyond the point 

27 o 


where we could see, at a glance, what ob- 
jects were desirable. Under such cir- 
cumstancos how limited would be our 
means of enjoyment compared with what 
they are at present ! The mind of man 
is finite. It must follow the chain of 
consequences link by link in order to 
reach the other end. We climb the rug- 
ged path of science from hill to hill, feel- 
ing, at each step, that if we can only 
reach the next eminence our curiosity 
will be satiated and that we will be at 
our journey's end; but, passing on, we 
stop now and then by the way plucking 
fruits of the most delicious flavor, that 
were not anticipated, which serve to give 
our desires renewed strength for fresh 
victories. Our pleasures are thus increas- 
ed a thousand fold. It is true, we are 
sometimes wearied and disappointed, but 
this serves to add variety to monotony 
and to enhance the value of our conquests. 
Little did the first experimenters in elec- 
tricity and steam imagine the almost mi- 
raculous achievements to which their la- 
bors were giving origin. Truly the very 
lightning that dashes with terrific splen- 
dor across our horizon, rending heaven 
and earth, is now the vehicle through 
which man communes with his fellows 
with the rapidity of thought from one 
end of the land to the other ! The same 
air that we breathe is the means of uni- 
ting all the nations of the earth as of one 
family and one interest ! Since, then, 
philosophy is no less a necessity to man 
for promoting his happiness and supply- 
ing his wants than an innate principle 
leading him on to most of his enjoyments, 
every man is a philosopher. Philosophy, 
then, is the shrine to which all must 
come, the high and low, rich and poor, 
bond and free. Some of us get only a 
part of the precious jewels; others the 
whole, but all receive our share. 

However numerous or diversified the 
branches of philosophy seem, when view- 
ed independently of each other and with 

reference only to their particular objects, 
they all terminate in two great sources, 
which may be termed, for convenience in 
this place, material and mental philoso 
phy. The sphere of the former embraces 
the principles relating to the whole won 
derful world of matter, that of the latter 
all those principles having reference to 
that mysterious and complicated region 
— mind. Here are two vast and beauti 
ful fields of inquiry spread but before us ; 
— fields rich in every variety of soil and 
production, from the earth upon which 
we tread and the animals that inhabit it 
to those myriads of worlds that sport 
above our heads with the same beautiful 
harmony as when first whirled into space. 
But there are serious embarrassments to 
the study of matter to the highest extent 
desirable — expensive apparatus and par- 
ticular seasons are necessary. No such 
difficulties present themselves in the in 
vestigation of mind. 

We have all the apparatus and mate- 
rials required for - our operations at all 
times and at every place. If one were| 
chained down in a dungeon whence, he 
never could depart, his speculations in 
this department of science need not be 
interrupted ; for, even under these hu 
miliating circumstances, he would stil 
have an inexhaustable fund of though) 
and feeling within himself to philosophize 

When it is said there are even twe 
kinds of philosophy, this should be un 
derstood to have reference to their sub 
ject matter, for, strictly speaking, all phil 
osophy is that of mind. This is a mis 
take of course which few will fall into i 
the error upon which it proceeds is bornii 
in mind ; but it is in this instance as ii 
many others, our minds may be deceiv 
ing us when we least suspect it. If ou 
attention be directed to a beautiful younti 
lady, the emotions which such an objec 
naturally gives rise to in our minds ar< 
simultaneously transferred to her, and 



is hard for us to realize that many of the 
delightful graces that, for the time, throw 
a charm around that face and form, are 
the products of our own minds reflected 
back upon us and that after all we have 
really seen nothing but a living mass of 
disconnected particles of matter variously 
colored. If any fair Miss should do me 
the honor to glance at these seemingly 
harsh lines, I would beg her not to be of- 
fended, and assure her that I would not 
remove the deception in this case for my 
existence were it in my power, expecting 
soon to become a candidate for a perma- 
nent "take-in" of this kind. And, in ad- 
dition to this, she may have the pleasure 
of reflecting that some objects have the 
power of exciting such feelings while 
others may not be so happily constituted. 
To this delusive principle we are doubt- 
less indebted for a great many pleasures, 
without any bad consequences resulting 
therefrom, but we are also indebted to it 
for many erroneous conclusions and their 
necessary attendants erroneous applica- 
tions. To make an application of what 
has just been said to the subject under 
consideration, if the beneficial results of 
material philosophy are constantly im- 
pressed upon us, combined with our 
knowledge of the principles from which 
they flow, we are strongly disposed to 
consider mental philosophy unimportant 
for all practical purposes, and, hence, to 
ineglect it altogether. 

Now to suppose there can be progress 
in any department of science without a 
i knowledge of the human mind, is as gross 
an error as if a mechanic should under- 
:take to construct a machine without first 
[inquiring into the powers, limits and uses 
of the tools or other contrivances by 
iv which his materials must be moulded and 
!i xdapted to each other. Even in that 
i branch of philosophy called material, the 
b menomena are all that do not belong to 
; : ;he mind ; the operator, instruments and 
i structure are strictly mental. Nature 

presents nothing but disconnected facts 
without resemblance or classification ex- 
cept as felt and developed by the mind. 

Material philosophy is the consequent 
of mental philosophy. Just in propor- 
tion as the latter is understood will the 
former advance and no further. How 
much more rapid would have been the 
march of man, if he had only studied his 
mind far enough, at first, to discover its 
limits and the proper objects and means 
of investigation. Had this been the case, 
so many ages would not have been' wast- 
ed in idle inquiries such as astrology, al- 
chemy and many others of a like charac- 
ter that might be mentioned. What a 
source of exultation it should be to us 
that Bacon, Locke, Adam, Smith, Aristo- 
tle, Reid, Stewart, Shaftesbury, Butler, 
Brown, Karnes, Campbell, arose in due 
time to shed their streams of light upon 
the world ! The philosophy of mind is 
the altar upon which they deposited their 

Will any one, at this day, dare to be so 
ignorant or ungrateful as to say no return 
has be&n made for their sacrifices ? Earth 
nor heaven now offers any barriers too 
great for man to over come ; their trea- 
sures lie in profusion around us. 

Who will, now, be so bold as to at- 
tempt to estimate our progress a century 
hence, if we will only improve the rich 
legacy bequeathed to us ? but, if we neg- 
lect to do this, our developments even in 
the material universe must, at one time 
or other, terminate. At present, there 
seems no probability of such a sad state 
of things. The late able contributions to 
the philosophy of mind from Sir Wm. 
Hamilton, believed to be the giant philo- 
sopher of the world, the profound Mill 
and Whately, the liberal and brilliant 
Cousin and Juoffroy, to say nothing of 
many others, tell us plainly that philoso- 
phy has not yet reached its meridian. 

Our own country has heretofore been 
more distinguished as superficial and 



highly practical than as combining the 
latter quality with the highest degree of 
originality. It was natural and well that it 
should be so under the circumstances; the 
abundant physical resources of the coun- 
try must be developed before it was eith- 
er necessary or possible that many of our 
countrymen should have the time and 
means required for speculation. Under 
such a state of things we, have been most 
profitably employed in making an appli- 
cation of the great intellectual develop- 
ments of older countries. But these con- 
siderations do not apply with so much 
force to us now as formerly. We can ex- 
plore for ourselves the exhaustless region 
of mind, and by a more careful search 
find many valuable elements that have 
been time and again carelessly stepped 
over ; and we can at the same time make 
fresh discoveries in the sciences and arts 
of matter. It is only by this means that 
we can become permanently great in 
science, literature, civil and religious in- 
stitutions. We are dependent upon for- 
eign countries too much for productions 
in the first two departments. I do not 
mean to decry the study of foreign works; 
let the best of them be studied well, but 
let us discover that boldness of thought 
and sentiment which becomes our posi- 
tion as a great, independent and dignified 
people. Progress in the philosophy of 
mind and matter are, then, inseparably 
connected, as cause and effect. 

But the latter may deserve some credit 
as a whetstone to the mind. That branch 
of the science of matter called mathemat- 
ics is based upon a few fixed definitions 
and anxioms ; we combine these so as to 
produce in invariable succession an in- 
definite series of propositions, such con- 
firmed by all that have gone before and 
admitting of demonstration so satisfactory 
as to make doubt or error out of the ques- 
tion if the connecting links be understood. 
Since the data are simple and invariable 
and there are no counteracting circum- 

stances at play, it would seem that the 
great benefit the mind derives from the 
process consists in the accuracy acquired 
in properly connecting premises and con- 
clusion ; when the reasoning is purely ab- 
stract That this is an important train- 
ing, if the evils that attend it be disre- 
garded, no one will pretend to deny ; but 
in all human affairs there is little or none 
of such reasoning available. Here proba- 
bilities must be considered, the evidence 
must be weighed with the nicest preci- 
sion to determine which side has the pre- 
ponderance of truth. Does mathematics 
give the drilling desirable in these parties 
ulars ? If these humble suggestions be 
true, they may furnish an explanation for 
the fact that those who have devoted 
themselves mostly to mathematics, when 
they have to discuss subjects of a differ- 
ent kind, nearly always adopt false pre- 
mises, of course, draw false conclusions, 
and are less liberal in maintaining their 
opinions than any other class of scientific 

But to turn to that other branch of the 
philosophy of matter, physical science, so 
called, the process is different. The phe- 
nomena are generally simple and uniform, 
though there are some disturbing influ- 
ences, one experiment or observation is, 
in most cases, sufficient to give a general' 
principle. Some of these systems aid the 
mind very much, it is supposed, by the 
variety and beauty of their modes of clas- 
sification ; but even here the marks of 
distinction are too plain and separate to 
sharpen the discriminating powers to the 
greatest extent. It should be understood 
that the views here submitted in regard 
to the importance of mathematical and 
physical science, are intended to be en- 
tirely relative, and that it is far from my 
object to discourage such studies. He 
who is ignorant of either of these branch-i 
es of science, particularly the latter, loses 
much that is calculated in a high degree 
to amuse, instruct and adorn his mind. 



If, as I hope to have shown, a knowl- 
edge of the laws of mind is indispensable 
to progress in the material world, how 
insignificant must be this advantage when 
compared with the importance of that 
knowledge in all those departments in 
life in which mind is not only the opera- 
tor, instruments and structure employed, 
but is the material itself upon which we 
operate. It is only when the intellectual 
sciences are traced back to the mind, their 
only proper source, that they assume then- 
proper dignity as sciences of the highest 
importance to man ; — such are ethics and 
politics the principles and means by which 
it is best to extend the happiness of our 
race ;— logic, rhetoric? criticism the modes 
by which truth can be best investigated, 
promulgated, appreciated ;— and, last, 
psychology the laws of that noble and 
mysterious world ever about us by which 
the beauties and uses of every thing in 
the universe are sought after, felt and ap- 
plied. Surely such speculations as these 
would be of the most sublime kind if they 
answered no other purpose than to en- 
lighten us on the subjects of which they 
treat ; but the palm must be claimed for 
them as giving the highest mental disci- 
pling of which science is capable. 

In this process the data are entremely 
complicated, in many cases,and they shad- 
ow into each other from our very attempts 
to grasp and separate them. But even 
after our data are determined, the circum- 
stances that attend them are so various 
contradictory, and lead to so many differ- 
ent conclusions that it calls for the most 
•accurate discrimination generally to ap- 
proach the truth with merely a strong 
degree of probability on our side. 

These inquiries admit of every decree 
of evidence from certainty to the most ab- 
struse estimate of probability. They 
tend to humble rather than exalt us in 
our own opinions ; we see how feeble are 
Mir powers at best, and learn to throw 
wide confident assertions and dogmatism 
Vol. IV.— No. J 8. 

from the extreme subtilness of truth in 
all discussions relating to man. It is only 
by this means that the highest powers of 
discrimination and curiosity can be deve- 
loped. And when this is accomplished, 
every acquisition to our store of knowl- 
edge is easily obtained. Such subjects as 
relate to man must claim every one's atten- 
tion more than any others; but how 
much more enlarged, liberal and accurate 
views may be had of him, in all his rela- 
tions, by combining our own narrow and 
hurried speculations with the study of a 
few of the systems that have been evolved 
by some of the greatest intellects known 
to the world. 

If it became our lot to spend a life-time 
in a country beset on every side with the 
most fatal snares, we would eagerly pro- 
cure the charts of the greatest of those 
who had made it their sole profession 
while living in that same country to point 
out the dangerous places and to act as a 
guide to others. Such a country is the 
mind, such charts are the great systems of 
human philosophy, and the great authors 
mentioned above, such guides. It is urg- 
ed that the tendency of such subtil dis- 
criminations as these studies lead to, pro- 
duce skepticism in some minds. The 
objection is worth nothing. This arises 
from the complicated nature of such in- 
vestigations. It is the mind grasping at 
truth with a thousand counteracting forces 
pulling it in other directions. Suppose a 
few men are made confirmed skeptics in 
there struggles to reach these truths 
while many more are successful, must we 
discard such inquiries altogether? Is not 
the world advanced by it, if more truth 
than error is the result ? There is no 
subject known that has given origin to so 
much doubt and contrariety of opinion as 
the Christian religion, yet how absurd?!* 
would seem to us to attempt to dispose 
of it on such an objection. There axe 
certain settled principles in this, as in the 
philosophy of mind, upon which me* 



agree, and there are likewise undetermin- 
ed principles about which they differ. — 
This will necessarily, be the case as long 
as our minds are so differently constituted 
and truth is so difficult to determine. I 
hope we have seen then that mental phil- 
osophy is of the highest importance to 

progress in every seience. How beauti- 
ful and wonderful is man's adaptation to 
the universe within and without him. — 
Nature seems to have scattered her boun- 
ties around him merely to develope his 
capacities and exalt his condition. 


Messes. Editors : 

If variety be the spice of life, as has 
long been maintained, then I contend 
that the mere fact of this being a letter 
instead of an Essay, Review, Criticism, 
Soliloquy or something else, will not of 
itself be a justifiable plea' for its rejection. 
I feel a deep interest in the well-doing 
of the Magazine, and am desirous of con- 
tributing something to that end ; but the 
question arises, what shall that some- 
thing be ? Shall I ransack the musty re- 
cords of the past, and scare up from his 
resting place the ashes of some mighty 
hero who has slept perhaps for thousands 
of years merely for the sake of a thrilling 
incident? Shall I wander through the 
mazes and mysteries of philosophy, meta- 
physics, morals, politics, religion and law, 
and write a staid essay? or shall I " soar 
aloft into the regions of space," and give 
you a tale of the Heart ? Now as I am 
but a poor historian, much less a philoso- 
pher, novelist or poet, my answer to all 
these questions must necessarily be — nay. 
Then what must I do ? Methiuks I hear 
some one say — " mind your own business 
and let other people's alone." Very good 
doctrine, sir, I grant you: but as that 
thing never has been done yet, I being ra- 
ther a timid youth, am unwilling to make 
the adventure at this late day. 

But, Messrs. Editors, being of a sort of 
a sneaking disposition, I have thought I 
could do you more good by acting the 
part of a spy, than in any other way 
.whatever. Don't understand me as in- 
tending to act the unenviable part of a 
critic — by no means, for they are the very 
men I am going to spy first. These same 
individuals— self-styled critics— are in my 
opinion heavy clogs to the wheels of your 
prosperity. I refer of course to college 
critics, such as for instance Fresh, Sophs, 
Juniors, who have no hopes of becoming 
Editors, and, I might add perhaps, the de- 
feated candidates for Editor among the 
Seniors. These constitute the main body 
of college critics. 

Now, against well-timed and judicious 
criticism I have nought to say ; for I be- 
lieve it has ever proved a valuable prun- 
ing-knife to the literature of the world. 
The fear of it has kept many a tainted 
production from seeing the light of day, 
and stifled much that was trashy and un- 
j fit for the public eye ; while it causes 
those who do venture a book upon the 
' world to "turn the stylus oft," and be 
i careful what and how they write. This 
I is the legitimate province of criticism. 
j But when men through malice, ignorance 
I or a "malo videri quam esse" make it a 
i point to abuse every thing that is written 
without ever attempting to write anything 
themselves — condemn every thing in gen- 
eral without specifying anything in par- 
ticular — such men, I say, deserve not' the 
name of critics, but, as a worthy son oi 
North Carolina has aptly termed them — 
"scavengers of literature who devoui 
greedily the offal matter that may fall be 
fore them in the construction of any work 
however good its object." 

You who wear the robes Editorial, art 
thereby shielded in a great measure irom; 
the poisonous sting of the critic's dart, 
but be assured your little Magazine in itfc 
simple paper binding never fails to be 
lampooned by some of them into its ori- 
ginal ragged elements ; and I, an outsi- 
der, always strolling about in the lobbies 
am not unfrequently an eye-witness t< 
these brutal conflicts. But let me give 
you an instance. You meet one of thest 
"scavengers" upon the walk, the day the 
Magazine comes out, and as soon as hi 
gets in speaking distance he cries ou 
"what do you think of the Magazine ?"— 
Well, you reply, it hasn't been here bu 
about ten minutes. I havn't had time t< 
read it yet — don't know what I think o 
it, what do you think of it? "It's jus 
the worst out — I think they'd bette 
wipe out entirely." But why do you con 
demn it? what particular fault do yoi 
find ? Perhaps you havn't read it all.— ^ 
"No, nor I don't intend to read it — it' 



too boring" and on lie goes with the full 
assurance that he has exploded the Maga- 
zine, and done something wonderful. — 
When at the same time, if he had to be 
hanged for it he couldn't specify the mer- 
its or demerits of a single article give him 
a whole week to study it. Next proceed 
to the belfry, and taice a seat there among 
Fresh, Sophs, and Loafers in general. — 
The first thing you hear is some infant 
America — Engine letting off steam about 
the Magazine. Don't say a word but lis- 
ten, and you'll hear him discourse about 
as follows. "I can't see for my life why 
they continue to publish those old Revo- 
lutionary tales. Who cares how Colonel 
Fanning crossed Moore's creek-bridge ? — 
Or whether Phil. Alston's wife acted the 
part of a heroine when she raised a white 
handkerchief on a yard stick and advanc- 
ed 'mid showers of the enemy's bullets to 
stipulate for the lives of her husband and 
children? Who has any interest now in 
what the first Governors of North Caro- 
lina said or did ? I havn't, I'm sure — 
and 1 don't suppose any body else has. — 
My prediction is, gentlemen, (in a loud 
emphatic tone) if they continue to pub- 
lish such stuff as this long, they'll have 
no subscribers — the Magazine will go 
idown — that's just the long and short of 
it." And off he struts to give the crowd 
an opportunity to applaud his sarcasm, 
wit and sagacity, and to predict his fu- 
ture greatness. A Freshman next comes 
forward — not quite so pretending, but a 
little more modest — and in a gosling tone 
«ries out, "well, I don't know so much 
about these old Revolutionary stories. — 
They may be interesting to some, I never 
:read them myself; for I have always been 
taught that it's wrong to tell stories, and 
therefore I don't think it ^;iows to read 
them. But I do think that last editorial 
is a mighty 'boot-licking affair.' Seems 
to me the Editors just want to show off 
any how — putting in them big words, 
^puns, and one thing or another. The 
^Magazine's too dry — I think they ought 
10 have some pictures in it." 

This, gentlemen, I assure you, is not 
exaggeration. It is literally true ; and 
but a fair specimen of what may be heard 
^>n the forth-coming of every number of 
your Magazine. I heard a Freshman 
some time ago, openly condemning, in 
Unqualified terms a leading article, which 
was afterwards copied into several of the 
leading literary periodicals of the State, 

and pronounced on all hands as the finest 
article that had ever graced the columns 
of the Magazine. Yet this is the piece 
that "went so badly" to the Freshman. — 
He thought that the writer must have 
been bewildered. I think it more pro- 
bable the reader was bewildered that time. 

Such critics, it is true, can do you no 
great deal of harm, but they may do 
some. It is not merely for the injury 
they are likely to do the Magazine that I 
would have them "turn from the error of 
their way," but it is mainly for their own 
good. Now there are three reflections I 
would recommend them to make while 
thus attempting to criticise, or find fault 
with the Magazine and every thing it con- 
tains, viz: First, they are doing no good — 
profiting neither themselves nor any body 
else — secondly, they are doing harm, but 
not in the way they intend it. Thirdly, 
and "last but not least," they are render- 
ing themselves extremely ridiculous in 
the eyes of those who are capable of judg- 
ing ; and hence while they think they are 
doing themselves great credit, and the 
Magazine great injury, they are simply 
exposing themselves to the contempt of 
sensible men. As I have before intimat- 
ed, if they would but criticise in the pro- 
per way, no one could object. It might 
be profitable to themselves and perhaps 
to others too ; and there is about the Mag- 
azine (you will doubtless agree with me) 
plenty of food for the critic's maw. But 
between honest criticism and malignant 
vituperation there is a wide difference ; 
and to draw this discrimination I would 
recommend as a good exercise for some 
of my young friends. So mote it be. 

Now, Messrs. Editors, if you were as 
"omnipresent and invisible," as the Know 
Nothing Sam, you would doubtless be 
highly amused at the squibs of abuse that 
will be thrown at this rough epistle. One 
will say, "It's written by some fool who 
just wants to get on the good side of the 
Editors, so that they'll publish something 
else he expects to write." Another, "it's 
defective both in spelling and grammar, 
for I noticed several mistakes myself." — 
While a third will surmise that "since it 
is such a boot-licking article it certainly 
must have been written by some candi- 
date for Editor in the next class !" Ah ! 
then you hit me — and now I shall expect 
you all to vote for me, provided you find 
me out, and if you don't, please put in 
your tickets for "NE SCIO." 




Fellow-Students : — Vacation is over, 
and we hope you all return to your la- 
bors with new zeal and earnestness. Your 
improved hooks and joyous spirits say 
plainly that you have had a healthy and 
a happy sojourn among your friends and 
relatives. We extend our greetings and 
a hearty welcome to those who are now 
with us for the first time. Come, join 
with us, and let us present one undivided 
phalanx in the pursuit of intellectual and 
moral improvement. It is not the bright- 
est genius that makes the most useful 
man, but he who acts upon that spirit of 
indomitable perseverance, which says, 
"Nil Desperandum." The genius may 
succeed well but never did anything suc- 
ceed half so well as the genius of determi- 
nation and energy. It is this that sways 
the sceptre over opposing obstacles, exalts 
man and makes him manliest. This was 
the geuius that made Napoleon Emperor, 
Milton the prince of poets, and Wash- 
ington the father of his country. 

It is said that Cgesar frequently re- 
marked, that the reputation of Alexander 
would not let him sleep. With untiring 
exertion he at length sheathed his sword, 
emblazoned with as much glory as that of 
Alexander. " Where there is a will there 
is a way," was verified in this instance. 
The sentiment is worthy of imitation. — 
But it is one thing to acquire a reputation 
and quite another to acquire it justly. — 
We can find many bright examples in our 
own country, whose reputations should 
keep us from sleeping. Distinction is not 
the offspring of inglorious ease, but of 
ceaseless exertion. We must labor, and 
our every deed must be actuated by pure 

motives. A craving for reputation should 
be a craving for usefulmess. We should 
have a worthy name, always identified 
with integrity. We'should not be proud to 
serve our fellows, but they should be 
proud to have us serve them. And may 
we in the end be able to say with Caesar, 
" I am satisfied with my share of life and 

Again, it is said in heathen mythology, 
that beasts and trees were obedient to the 
strains of Orpheus' music ; and that the 
stones obeying the sounds of Amphion's 
goldon lyre assumed their respective pla- 
ces and formed an impregnable wall 
around the city Thebes. But such times 
have passed, and we have a real matter- 
of-fact world to deal with, and our great 
deeds are to be performed not by the ne- 
cromancy of music, but by that of will. 
Let us then be " diligent in business," 
and never despair of achieving something 
for the benefit of our race. Many have 
sunk into their graves unknown and un 
cared for, who, but for a distrust of their 
abilities, might have become as philoso- 
phic as Franklin, as patriotic as Washing- 
ton, or as philanthropic as Howard or 

" Our doubts are traitors. 

And make us loose the good we olt might win, 

By fearing to attempt." 

We bespeak for this, our first effort, a 
kind and indulgent reception. Our posi- 
tion has been an embarrassing one. The 
editorial robes illfitted our diminutivei 
proportions, the quill felt awkward in our 
unpracticed hands, while we, by no means, ; 
felt at our ease in the chair. And besides 



this, the matter for our first issue was 
collected during vacation, when we were 
all scattered about in search of pleasures, 
so that we had not even the benefit of 
each other's advice and friendly criticisms. 
Our contributors, too, partaking of the 
general lassitude and ennui of the Sum- 
mer months, did not furnish us with as 
mapy articles from which to make a selec- 
tion, as we hope to have in future. Con- 
sidering all things, have we not done as 
well as could have been expected ? The 
leading piece will, doubtless prove accept- 
able to those who delight in the history of 
our State; and we consider all the others as 
quite readable. It will be our aim to give 
in each number, some substantial article 
that wiil be instructive, and perhaps valu- 
able, for reference. We shall then fill up 
with such numerous and spirted articles 
as we may have on hand ; while our edi- 
torial department devoted "de omnibus 
cebus, et singulis, et quibusdam aliis," 
shall be more particularly the register of 
guch college events as may be worthy of 

We do not hope to display any great 
literary attainments and ability, and all 
that we dare promise is a faithful and 
w ell-meaning attempt at duty. 

To some it may appear rather droll that 
we should attempt, at this late date, an 
tccount of Commencement Exercises, but 
we do this, not so much for the present, 
as for the future interest it will be to our 
•eaders. In coming years this will, doubt- 
ess, be an interesting page of reference 
o many and especially so to those who 
Participated in the festivities of the occa- 
sion. Without entering into minute de- 
ail, we shall give, as briefly as possible, 
i he main features of this our fifty-eighth 
.nniversary. In giving this sketch, we 
dave followed the opinions of those, 
ivhose judgement of literary performan- 
«s we had rather trust than our own, 

but in which we most heartily con- 

On Monday night, the sermon before 
the graduating class, was preached by the 
Rev. Benjamin M. Palmer, D. D., a Pres- 
byterian minister from Columbia, So. Ca. 
His text was, 

"Then Simon Peter answered him, 
Lord, to whom shall we go ? Thou hast 
the words of eternal life. And we believe 
and are sure that thou art that Christ the 
Son of the living God." St. John vi : 

For an hour and twenty minutes did 
a large congregation listen with unti- 
ring interest to a discourse which was 
learned, eloquent, and impressive, "beau- 
tiful in its conception, and grand in its 
delivery." As a literary and also as a re- 
ligious effort, this sermon ranks as one of 
the very best, if not the best, that we 
have ever had on a similar occasion. — 
Glad are we to learn that the Doctor has 
consented to have it published. 

On Tuesday night the Freshmen com- 
petitors occupied the rostrum for the en- 
tertainment of the audience. They ap- 
peared as follows — 

The Contentment of Europe. Kossuth. Ru'ug 

B. Mann, Granville. 
Impression derived from ike Study of History. 

Verplanck. John A. Gilmer, Greensboro'. 
The Roman Soldier, from the " Last Days of 
Herculaneum.'" Atherstono. William M. Cole- 
man, Cabarrus. 
Absalom. Willis. Julius W. Wright, Wil- 
MitforoVs Greece. Macauley. Leroy M. Mc- 

Affe, Cleveland. 
Motives to Intellectual Exertions in America. — 

Everett. Thomas S. Price, Hamilton Co. 
Defalcation and Retrenchment. S. S. Prentiss. 

Reuel M. Staneill, Mississippi. 
Prospect of Affairs in the East. J. S. C. Ab- 
bott. Jesse S. Barnes, Wilson Co. 
The American Forest Girl. Mrs. Hemans, — 

John D. Hawkins, Mississippi. 

Spartacus to the Gladiators at Capua. Kellogg. 

Joseph M. White, Florida. 

On Wednesday forenoon, the address 



before the two litery Societies, wus deli- 
vered by Mr. George Davis, of Wilming- 
ton. The subject of his speech the ora- 
tor announced in these words : "I have 
thought/' said he, "that instead of ser- 
monizing upon themes which were long 
ago threadbare, I would give you a sketch, 
imperfect as it may be, of the Early Times 
and Men of the lower Cape Fear." The 
subject was happily chosen and skillfully 
managed. The patriotic sentiments of 
this address, expressed in such flowing 
and well-rounded periods, combined with 
a most graceful delivery, could not fail 
in producing a lasting and most pleasing 
impression on the hearers. It has not 
only done Mr. Davis much credit, but it 
will be a valuable contribution to our 
State history. 

At the close of this speech the Histori- 
cal Society was called to order, and a lec- 
t ure delivered by the Right Rev. T. Atkin- 
son, D. D. His theme was the character 
of Oliver Cromwell." It was a calm 
and well-considered view of a subject 
which has vexed and puzzled the world 
for two centuries. It was a production 
chaste, learned and ingenious, and speaks 
most favorably for the candor and philo- 
sophical discrimination of the Bishop. — 
We hope to have the pleasure of spread- 
ing this address before our readers in our 
September issue. 

The Aliumni address was delivered 
in the afternoon by William J. Bing- 
ham, Esq., of Orange. " Are the mo- 
dems wiser than the ancients — is the hu- 
man race, as such improving?" " This," 
says the New York Herald, " was the 
burden of his song, and right well 
did he set his song to music." Mr. 
Bingham discussed his subject with mark- 
ed ability. His speech though profound, 
was enlivened by happy strokes of wit 
and satire against the pseudo progress of 
the age. His enunciation is most admira- 

On Wednesday night the exhibition of 

the Sophomore Class took place in the 
following order : 

Repudiation of the charge of French Influence, 
during the War of 1812. H. Clay. Nathan 

B. Whitfield, Lenoir Co, 

Alfred to his Soldiers. Knowles. James J. 

Perkins, Pitt Co. 
Regulus to the Roman Senate. Sargent. Joh» 

Anthony, Scotland Neck. 
Woman. Neal. Nathan P. Ward, Frnklin 

Prospects of the California. N. Bennett. H. 

C. Thompson, Chapel Hill. 

Victor Hugo to the Exiles of Europe. John E. 

Wharton, Guilford Co. 
National Hatreds, Rufus Choate. Joseph Gra- 
ham, Hillshoro'. 
Tlie Death of Webster. Harper. Charles A. 

Mitchell, Chapel Hill. 
Military Insubordination. H. Clay. Leonidas 

B. Haley, Alabama. 
The Frail Tenure of our Earthly Life. Anon- 
ymous. Junius B. Deberry, Northampton Co. 
Like their younger competitors of the 
preceding evening, they acquitted them- 
selves well. During a short interval in 
the exercises, Mr. A. C. Avery, of Burke, 
received at the hands of Governor Swain, 
a handsome copy of Shakespeare, a prize 
awarded by the Prof, of Rhetoric, for the 
best composition in the Sophomore class. 
Thursday was a fine day, and the cha- 
pel was crowded with interesting and in- 
terested spectators. The order of exerci 
ses, as exhibited by the programme, wai 
as follows : 


I. Sacred Music 

II. Prayer. 

III. Latin Salutatory. James Hooper Col 
ton, Ashborough. 

IV. Influence: -Illimitable in extent and Du- 
ration. Peter Evans Spruill, Warrenton. 

V. College Education and its Defects. Mat 
thew S. Davis, Warren County. 

VI. College Education and its Defects. Dun 
can Elizabeth McNair, Robeson co. 

VII. The American explorer. William Gas- 
ton Lewis, Chapel Hill. 

VIII. Commemorative Monuments. Jamc 
N. Turner, Harnett county. 

IX. The Fate of the Gifted. Jesse R. Whar 
ton, Guilford county. 



X. Geology— not Anti- Christian. Jas. Camp- 
bell, Harnett co. 

XL Science: Nature's Complement. Charl- 
ton W. Yellowley, Jackson. 

XII. Scottish Chivalry. Evander J. Melver, 
Moore Co. 

Xin. Which Way? Edmund J. Gaines, 
Montgomery Co. 

XIV. Greek Address. John Marshall Puttick, 


I. Aide-toi, le ciel t'aidara. Daniel McDou- 
gald, Harnett county. 

II. The Well-being of Man. Robt. E. James 
South Carolina. 

77/. The Self-made Man. James Robert Gat- 
ling, Gates county. 

IV. The Sailor's Destiny. William Hunt 
Hall, Wilmington. 

V. Annual Report. 

VI. Degrees Conferred. 

VII. The Valedictory. Edward Winslow 
Gilliam, Fayetteville. 

VIII. Sacred Music. 

IX. Benediction, 

The degree of Bachelor of Arts, was 
conferred on fifty four young gentlemen, 
composing the Senior Class, as follows : 

Richard B. Bellamy, Marianna, Fla. 

Alexander I). Betts, Cumberland. 

Nathaniel A. Boyden. ' ... .Surry. 

Henry M. Brearley, Darlington, S. C. 

James Campbell Cumberland. 

Robert A. Carrigan, Alamance. 

James H. Colton, Ashboro'. 

Matthew S. Davis, Warren. 

James W, Ewing, Montgomery, 

Edmund J. Gaines, Montgomery. 

J. Robert GatUng, Gates. 

Edward W. Gilliam Fayetteville. 

John B. Gilliam Bertie. 

William W. Glover, Robeson. 

Thomas B. Graham, Hillsboro', Miss. 

Willis L. Green, Wai'renton. 

James Iladley, Davidson, Tenn. 

Wm. H. Hall Wilmington. 

Atherton B. Hill, Scotland Neck. 

John R. Hogan, Chapel Hill. 

Joseph H, Hyman Tarboro'. 

Alfred B. Irion, Cheneyville.La. 

Robert E. James, Darlington, S.C. 

W. Gaston Lewis Chapel Hill. 

William J. Love, jr Wilmington. 

Danial McDougald, Cumberland. 

Calvin A. McEachin, Robeson. 

Evander J. Melver, Moore. 

Henry W- McMillan, Robeson. 

Duncan E. McNair, " 

RoryMcNair, " 

H. James McNeill, " 

Wm. J. Montgomery, Montgomery. 

Hunter Nicholson, Columbia, Tenn. 

Malloy Patterson, Richmond. 

Gideon J. Pillow, jr., Columbia, Tenn. 

Edward H. Plummer, Warrenton. 

John M. Puttick, Raleigh. 

Peter P. Scales, Henry, Va. 

Jeremiah Slade, Martin. 

Burton Smith, Hillsbo*, Miss. 

James M. Smith, Anson. 

Peter E. Spruill, Warrenton. 

Stark A. Sutton, Bertie. 

Marcus C. Thomas, Beaufort. 

Richard A. Torrence, Mecklenburg. 

James N. Turner, Cumberland. 

John P. Wall Richmond. 

Samuel P. Watters, Wilmington. 

Jesse R. Wharton, Greensboro'. 

Charles Whitaker, Davenport, Iowa. 

Jas. Hervey Whitfield,... Gainesville, Ala. 

Thos. D. Williams, Warrenton. 

Charlton W. Yellowley, Jackson. 

Having received their Academical Ac- 
colade our young friends have gone forth 
to try their fortunes in the wide world. — 
We send after them a hearty wish that 
all laudable efforts may be crowned with 
abundant success, and that their future 
career may be graduated to the sanguine 
hopes of preceptors, friends, and loving 
relatives. To each of them a kind Fare- 
well ! 

The degree of A. M., in regular course, waa 
conferred upon the following young gentlemen, 
alumni of the institution. 

Charles E. Bellamy, M. D., Columbus, Ga. : 
G. A. Brett, Hamilton, North Carolina •, Al- 
fred H. Carrigan, Ark. ; William M. Carrigan, 
Ark. ; John M. Dennis, Reevesville, S. C. ; 
James H. Horner, Oxford ; A. D. Moore, M- 
D. Chapel Hill ; George W. Neal, Wilming- 
ton, New Hanover ; Jamps G, Wilson, Wil- 
liamsborough ; John H. McDade, Melville ; 
and the Honorary degree of A. M., on Ashe* 
Ray, Principal of the. Female Academy at 





I. Scholarship. 

In the Senior Class, the First Distinction was 
assigned to Messrs. Colton, E. W. Gilliam and 

The Second to Messrs. Davis, Gains, Hall, 
Irion, McDougald, D. E. McNair and Whar- 

The Third to Messrs. Betts, Campbell, Gat- 
ling, Glover, Graham, Hyman, Lewis, Mclver, 
Plummet, Smith, Turner, Whitaker and Whit- 

The delivery of the Valedictory oration de- 
volved by lot upon Mr. Gilliam ; the Latin Sa- 
lutatory upon Mr. Colton, and the Greek oration 
npon Mr. Puttick. The speech in French was 
Msigned by the Faculty to Mr. McDougald. 


Four members of this Class, viz. : Messrs. 
Hall, Puttick, Slade and Whitfield, have been 
absent from no college duty during the entire 
term of lour years, involving about 4700 atten- 
dances on the part of each. Mr Boyden enter- 
ed Freshman, half advanced, and was not ab- 
sent during 3 J^ years. 

Mr. Lewis was absent 4 times from Prayers, 
and 6 times from Recitation during the Fresh- 
man year, on account of sickness, and none af- 
terwards. Mr. Hogan was punctual during the 
first three years of his course, and lost a single 
week during the Senior year, while confined to 
his room by sickness. Mr. Irion was not ab- 
sent during the Sophomore and Junior years, 
but lost a week at the beginning of the first term 
of tha Senior year. 

Messrs. Davis, Hadly, James D. E. McNair 
and McNeill entered Sophomore and were per- 
fectly punctual during the three years of their 
connection with this institution. Mr. Colton 
entered Sophomore and was not ahsent during 
the Sophemore and Junior years, and not dur- 
ing the Senior, except when detained by sick- 
ness or other unavoidable causes. 

The next most punctual were Messrs Whar- 
ton, Betts, Campbell, Ewing, Glover, Graham, 
R. McNair, Montomery, Pillow, B. Smith, 
Spruill, Thomas, Whitaker and Yellowley. 

Twelve members, nearly one fourth of the 
class, were absent from no duty during the Se- 
nior year. These were Messrs. Boyden, Davis, 
Hadley, Hall, James, Lewis D. E. McNair, 
McNeill, Puttick, Slade, Wharton and Whit-. 
field. Mr. McMillan was not absent from any 


In the Junior Class, the first distinction was 
assigned to Messrs. Bingham, Killebrew, Law- 
rence and Robins. 

The Second to Messrs. Alderman, Erwin, 
Merritt, Slade and Waddill. 

The Third to Messrs. J. Bruce, Bryan, Bur- 
ney, Johnson, Morrow, Stevenson and Yarbor- 

Mr. W. B, Bruce is entitled to the second dis- 
tinction in Mathematics, and the first in Erench: 
Mr. Hines to the second in Greek ; Mr. Cald- 
well to the second in History and in French ; 
Messrs. Mann, Owens and Summer to the se- 
cond in French. 

Mr. Sessions was absent by permission from 
the. Examination on French and the Bible : 
and Mr. Barnett from that on the Bible ; if 
present, they would have be entitled to Distinc- 


Messrs Slade and Waddell have been absent 
from no duty during the three years which they 
have been connected with the Institution. Mr. 
Hines was not absent during the Freshman and 
Sophomore years, and nevei during the pre- 
sent year when not detained by paramount 
engagements. Mr. Hogan has not been absent 
during three years, except when confined by 

Messrs Killebrew and D. P. McNair entered 
Sophomore and have failed in the performance 
of no college duty. Mr. Morgan has been ab- 
sent three times, Mr. Summer five, and Mr. 
Merritt seven times, irom sickness, or other 
causes, in three years. Mr. Drake 3 times from 
Players, twice from Recitation, and once from 
Divine worship, in two years. 

The next most punctual have been Messrs. 
Barrett, Bruce, W. B. Bruce, Clark, Crump, 
Green, Hilliard, Johnson, Owens, Windham 
and Yarborough. Mr. S. P. Smith has not been 
voluntarily absent from any duty during the pre- 
sent term. 


The first Distinction in the Sophomore Class 
was assigned to Messrs. Avery and Grady. 

The second to Messrs. Barnes, Bingham, 
Coble, Dugger, Harvey, Jordan, McLauchlin, 
Thompson, Venable, Webb, Whorton, and 

The third to Messrs. Belsher, D. McL. Gra- 
ham, J.W. Graham, W.H. Hagley, McMillan, 



Mitchell, Perkins, Smith, Steward, Thorp, and 

Mr. Mullins is entitled to the Second Dis- 
tinction in Greek, and Mr. Tillet to the first in 

Messrs. Flanner and D. W. Saunders were 
absent from the Examination on account of sick- 


Messrs. Dugger, Grady, Jiggitts, Lewis, 
Mitchell and W. H. Williams were absent from 
no duty during the Freshman and Sophomore 
years. Mr. Coble was absent during the Fresh- 
man year, and never except on acceunt of sick- 
ness during the Sophomore year. 

Messrs. J. G. Anthony, Barnes, Bels'ier, D. 
McL. Graham, La wing, McKinnon, Thorp, 
Ward, Williams and Wimberley, were not ab- 
sent during the Sophomore year. 

Messrs. Deberry, Kenan, McMillan, Pegues, 
Ramsay, F. G. Smith and Venable were not ab- 
sent during the first term of the present 3 r ear, 
and their absences during the second term, 
with few exceptions were occasioned by sick- 

The next most punctual were Messrs. J. An- 
thony, J. Graham, J. W. Graham, Harvey, 
Hunt, C. Lea, McLauchlin and Watson. 


In the Freshman class the first distinction was 
assigned to Messrs. Courts, Lord, McAtree, 
Morehead and Perry. 

The second to Messrs. Bell Glimer, Dowd, 
Johnson, Jones, R. H. March, Mason, Miller, 
J. F. Miller, R. M. Stancill and Twitty.— 
The third to Messrs Coleman, Baker, Clement, 
Davis, Kerr, MacArtney, Walker, Williamson, 
Wright, Young and W. H. Young. 

Mi. Pool is entitled to the first distinction in 
Mathematics ; and Messrs. Barnes and Burton, 
to the second in Mathematics. 


The following members of the Freshman 
class have been punctual during the year, viz. : 
Messrs. Dugger, Faison, Kerr, McAfee, Miller, 
J. F. Miller, Morehead, Price, Swain and Wal- 

Messrs. Allen, R. S. Alien, Elliot, Isler, Lord 
R. Marsh, Pool, Ringo, Twitty and J. White, 
have been very rarely absent. The next most 
punctual were Messrs. Bonner, Brown, Burton, 
Johnson, McLean, Phillips, Stancill, Tate and 
J. W. Tate. 

Messrs. Campbell, Coleman, Dowd, Fore- 
man, Scales, Swayze, W.C. Thompson, Wat- 

lington, Westray and Whi:aker, were not ab- 
sent during the first term, but were all confined 
by sickness for a longer or shorter period during 
the second. Messrs. Gilmer, Wright and 
Stancill were not absent during the second 

Messrs. Baker, Barnes, Campbell, Clement, 
Courts, Foreman, Goodman, Gordon, Hawkine, 
Hill, J. Marsh, Mason, Smith, Strickland, 
Thompson, Whitaker and Whitfield were rare- 
ly absent, except from unavoidable causes. 

Chief Justice Ruffin, chairman of the Board 
of Examiners, attended the examination of the 
Junior, Sophomore and Freshman Classes in 
every department of the institution, throughout 
the entire course, with the exception of the ex- 
amination upon the Holy Scriptures, which did, 
not take place until Monday of Commence- 
ment week. After a week of assidions labor, 
he was compelled to forego the enjoyment of 
the Commencerrent festivitives, and enter upon 
the discharge of graver duties, as Chairman of 
the County Court of Alamance. 

Thus passed Commencement. If it was 
not the most brilliant it was certainly one 
of the most agreeable we have ever had, 
and round it will cluster many pleasant 
associations and memories. The Marshal 
and his subs deserve especial commenda- 
tion for the prompt and satisfactory man- 
ner in which their duties were performed, 
and the ladies say they were particularly 
pleased with the managers. 

We clip from the Wilmington Heratd, 
a sketch of Chapel Hill, which we give 
below. By the way, we thank the Her- 
ald for the kind notice it takes of our 
Magazine in its monthly visits. Others 
of our exchanges also give us kind words 
of encouragement ; while others still do 
not so much as acknowledge the existence 
of the N. C. U. M. : 

" It is one of the prettiest, if not the very pret- 
tiest, spot known to us. The village itself is 
very much larger than we had supposed, and 
like country towns generally, has a profusion of 
shade trees. The college buildings are embow- 
ered in a grove of majestic oaks and elms, fling- 
ing their broad branches far apart, and making 
a most grateful shade. 

The country is modulatory, and the effect of 



the light and shade ol the forest, as presented 
in the waving character of the scenery — suc- 
cessive hill and dale, until at the horizon's verge 
in one direction, it reminded us somewhat of 
the distant sea — was of a character to please a 
poet's or a painter's eye. We profess to be nei- 
ther ; but we are not insensible to the beauties 
of nature ; and we aver that it must be a dull 
vision that can take in the surroundings oi the 
University without sensations of delight. The 
buildings themselves are large, generally, but 
are not sufficient to accommodate the ingenious 
youth who flock from all parts of the country to 
avail themselves of the advantages of this re- 
nowned seat of learning." 

The following complimentary extract 
we make from the New York Herald, and 
only regret that our space forbids one more 
lengthy. Its reporter, Dr. Geo. H. Keith, 
was among us for more than a week, and 
won for himself the esteem of all who 
made his acquaintance. We hope the 
Dr. will visit us again : 

"The University of North Carolina, located 
iu the small yet beautiful village of Chapel Hill, 
is the institution of the State, and psrhaps I 
should do other colleges no injustice by saying 
it is the institution of the South. Organized in 
in 1795, the old poplar tree is still standing 
ing in the Campus under which the trustees held 
their first deliberations. The college grounds 
comprise about twelve acres of high lands, filled 
with shade trees, native to the soil. The regu- 
larity of an artificial grove is thus lost, but the 
full beauty of both is retained. 

The first graduates were in 1798. Taking the 
table of matriculants as the basis of an opinion, 
the college seemed to move steadily on, increas- 
ing in strength and influence, from its organiza- 
tion up to 1824. For the next 24 years it seems 
to have passed through a variety of adverse for- 
tunes, and the year 1848 gave it less matriculants 
than 1824. 

But the fostering care of the State, wise coun- 
cils, and a full and a highly competent corps of 
professors and tutors, with a very full and rigid 
course of studies, placed the University in a po- 
sition to command the patronage of those who 
would have their sons educated in an instituti- 
on of the highest order. 

Since 1818 the number of matriculants has 
more than doubled, and last year the catalogue 

gives us— Seniors 55, juniors 56, sophomores 
92, freshman 96, partial course 13, law students 
12. Total 324." 

On the the evening of Commencement 
day a meeting of the Class just graduated 
was held in the College Chapel, Mr. Jas. 
H. Colton, of Ashborough, was called to 
the chair. Mr. James Park, of Term., 
explained the object of the meeting. It 
was for the purpose of entering into an 
obligation for the class to meet again, at 
some specified time, on the same classic 
ground rendered dear by the pleasures of 
several years' associations. Remarks 
were made by different members of this 
class in regard to the number of years 
and other questions connected with the 
proposed obligation. It was discussed, 
but not definitely settled, whether each 
one would be required to bring Ms fami- 
ly with him. But it was unimously res- 
olved " That we do meet again, Provi- 
dence permitting, at this place in June, 

The undersigned were appointed a com- 
mittee to publish this notice, and also to 
correspond with the class six months pre- 
vious to their appointed meeting, and re- 
mind them of their obligation. 

We therefore, through the University 
Magazine, perform the first portion of our 
duty, and in addition express the hope 
that the genuine friendship and enthusi- 
astic concurrence of sentiment which 
marked the hour of our parting, may 
find an echo in '65, which shall more than 
remind us of these, our hopeful days. 



A. D. BETTS. Cow. 

The following beautiful lines were writ- 
ten by Mrs. Mallett, a North Carolina la- 
dy, of fine attainments. They are not 
found in the " Carols," but are none the 
less sweet on that account. They will 
compare favorably with the " Wood 



Notes ;" and if sung, will not, we are sure 
produce the discordant sound : 


Hush ! Be still ! There comes a strain, 
Of music, whispering to my heart, 

Hush— -It comes again, again ! 
Strangely does my spirit start. 
Was it that I heard it oft, 
When vows were tender, tones were soft 1 
When hopes were bright, and life was new ? 
When joys were many, sorrows few 1 

Break not the spell, I yet can bear 

To dream of joys which once were mine ; 

Heed ! heed not the starting tear, 
'Tis bliss to weep at memory's shrine ! 
It brings back scenes which love had lighted, 
But time has since so rudely blighted. 
Again 1 wander 'midst the flowers, 
I culled, in young life's happy hours ; 
Oh ! all is beauty, all is song, 
Which to that joyous time belong ! 
Then sound again those thrilling notes, 
For near me now a vision floats ; 
With memories soft and sweet 'tis fraught, 
While Fancy's jewels richly wrought, 
Are clinging round the lovely thing, 
Which Music's Spell alone could bring. 

As we endeavor to furnish our table 
with a sufficient variety to suit the tastes 
of all, we insert the following poem by 
Sir John Memnis for the especial benefit 
of the last graduating class. We must 
remark, however, that we intend no dis- 
respect or disparagement to those ladies 
who are Messed with red hair. Indeed 
we are not sure but that they have laid 
aside the custom, which the ladies had 
in Sir John's day, of having red hair. — 
We are certain, at least, that we never 
saw one who would acknowledge it. By 
one of those strange mutations which 
time is ever working, red hair has be- 
come a beautiful auburn or a dark 
brown ; and perhaps red heads would be 
wholly unknown but for the hardier sex 
who prize it as an indication of genius. — 
But here is the poem, entitled : 

" Good Sir, if you will show the best of your 

To pick a virtuous creature, 

Then pick such a wife, as you love a life 

Of a comely grace and feature ; 
The noblest part, let it be her heart 

Without deceit or cunning ; 
With a nimble wit, and all things fit, 

With a tongue that's never running. 
The hair of her head, it must not be red, 

But iair and brown as a berry , 
Her forehead high, with a crystal eye, 

Her lips as red as a cherry." 

We give now what we consider a very 
good specimen of college versification. — 
The sentiments are good and right happi- 
ly are they set to verse. We hope that 
there is some more in Bruin, and that 
we shall hear from him again : 

Oh ! tell me not of deeds of glory, 

That grace the warrior's name ; 
That sound aloud the brilliant story, 

Of man's immortal fame. 

For these are transient as the leaf 
That smiles on summer's day, 

That decks the stem, but ah, how brief, 
For soon it fades away. 

And cease to point to glorious lights, 

That shine on history's page, 
That stand so fair on fame's proud height. 

The wonders of the age. 

For grief and toil and woe and pain, 
Have marked their journey on, 

And ere they halt, their hearts complain 
Of peace and comfort flown. 

For happiness so earnest sought 

Attends not glory's car, 
And reputation's dearly bought, 

When cures its pleasures mar. 

Then may my heart forever rest 

Secure from vain desire, 
Ne'er beat by envious passion laugh*, 

Or wild ambition's fire. 

And all I ask to bless my life 

Is sweet content of mind, 
To keep me safe from bitter strife 

And leave dull care behind. 

Then give to me a happy home, 

Within some forest shade, 
Where birds, with warbling often come, 

In plumage bright arrayed. 



A bower near the sparkling rill, 

Which gaily dances by 
A cottage on the gentle hill 

On which the moss-beds lie. 


We commend to all, but more especial- 
ly to our fellow-students, Dr. Franklin's 
Code of Morals. See what rules regula- 
ted the life of this great philosopher and 
Statesman ; and if you, too, desire to ben- 
efit your race, practice his simple virtues. 
Imitate them strictly, and you will, to 
say the least of it, become an honest 
man, '" the noblest work of God" — 

Temperance. — Eat not to fulness, drink 
not to elevation. 

Silence. — Speak not but what may be- 
nefit others, or yourself; avoid trifling 

Order. — Let all your things have their 
place ; let each part of your business have 
its time. 

Resolution. — Resolve to perform what 
you ought, perform without fail what you 

Frugality. —Make no expence, but to 
do good to others or to yourself; that is 
waste nothing. 

Industry. — Lose no time, be always 
employed in something useful ; keep out 
of all unnecessary action. 

Sincerity. — Use no hurtful deceit ; 
think innocently and justly, and if you 
speak, speak accordingly. 

Justice — Wrong none by doing injuries, 
or omitting the benefits that are your 

Moderation. — Avoid extremes ; forbear 
resenting injuries. 

Cleanliness. — Suffer no uncleanlinsss 
in the body, clothes or habitation. 

Tranquillity. — Be not disturbed by tri- 
fles, or at accidents common or unavoida- 

Humility. — Imitate Jesus Christ. 

The Fourth of July. — How appropri- 
ate it is that America should celebrate 

the birthday of her liberty, and that 
at each coming anniversary her peo- 
ple should meet around the altar of 
their common country, and do reverence 
to the shades of their ancestors ! And 
right nobly has this day been honored. — 
The booming cannons, martial music, pa- 
triotic speeches, military parades, and 
sumptuous dinners, seem to inspire every 
heart with gratitude to Him who rules 
the destinies of nations, for the peace, 
plenty, progress and presperity, with 
which our nation has been so eminently 
blest. Under a banner that still floats 
proudly and joyously in the free air of 
heaven, America's freemen meet to bury 
their sectional feelings and party animo- 
sities ; and we are tempted to believe, 
that so long as the Fourth of July is held 
in remembrance, as a day of national re- 
rejoicing, just so long will the Union of 
these States be perpetuated, and our pros- 
perity continue. But instability and 
change are written on all human institu- 
tions, and we should be constrained 
to watch our liberties with a jealous 

The last Fourth was celebrated with 
becoming spirit at Chapel Hill. A pro- 
cession was formed, and headed by a band 
of music, our citizens marched to the col- 
lege Chapel to hear the exercises of the 
day. After an appropriate prayer by Dr. 
Mitchell, the Mecklenburg declaration 
was read by Mr. Exum Lewis, and the 
National one by Mr. Isaac Tillett. Mr. 
H. M. Willis, the orator of the day, was 
then introuced to the audience. His 
speech was well conceived and forcibly 
expressed, and has done our friend from 
California much credit. The exercises in 
the Chapel were closed by an oration in 
behalf of Odd Fellowship, by Dr. Morgan 
Closs, of the Goldsboro' Female College. 
Copious showers of rain fell during the 
day, but the weather was not too in- 
clement at night for the young to meet 



and enjoy a social and interesting par- 


While at a party not long since, we 
noted down the following, which we give 
as a specimen of stereotyped conversa- 

(Mr. Smiggins, a fashionable young 
gont,attired in "Mac Gratis latest" with 
frazzled cravat, white hid gloves, &c, be- 
ing introduced to Miss Araminta Peach- 
blossom boios very scientifically.) 

Mr. Smiggins — Very fine weather, Miss 

Miss Peachblossom — {Failing herself,) 
very warm and dry indeed — no prospects 
of a refreshing shower. (Raining down 
pitchforks out doors.) 

Mr. Smiggins — (Gasping for breath) — 
it is really suffocating. Did you attend 
our last commencement? 

Miss Peachblossom — No sir. 

Mr. Smiggins — I presume then that this 
is your first visit to this place. 

Miss Peachblossom — {Bather hesitat- 
ingly)— yes sir. 

Mr. Smiggins — Do you dance ? 

Miss Peachblossom — I am passionately 
fond of it. 

Mr. Smiggins — ( Very politely{ — Can I 
have the exquisite pleasure of engaging 
you for a cotillion ? 

Miss Peachblossom — Really sir, {glanc- 
ing at her card,) I am engaged up to the 

{Mr. Smiggins in a quandary, takes 
his exit — discovers his friend Mr. Tomp- 
kins and desires an introduction to the 
charming Miss Marianna Honeysuckle. 

*We are pleased to see our friends participa- 
ting as Orators on this festival. Mr. J. M. 
Puttick was the selection made by the citizens 
of Raleigh, and our tlass-mate, Mr. Barrett, of 
Carthage. This was quite a compliment 'to 
their abilities, and no doubt they acquitted 
themselves well, and befitting the occa- 

Mr. Tompkins introduces his friend Mr. 

Mr. Smiggins— Very fine weather Miss 

Miss Honeysuckle— The rain is quite 

Mr. Smiggins— Did you attend our last 
commencement ? 

Miss Honeysuckle — I did, and never* 
enjoyed myself better. 

Mr. Smiggins— How did you enjoy 

Miss Honeysuckle— {Emphatically)— 
very, very well indeed. 

Mr. Smiggins — Do you dance ? 

Miss Honeysuckle — Occasionally sir. 

Mr. Smiggins — Can I have the exqui- 
site pleasure of engaging you for a cotil- 
lion ? 

Miss Honeysuckle — {Rather indiffer- 
ently) — you may have the seventeenth. 

Mr. Smiggins— Taking her card and 
writing his name upon it) — Are you ac- 
quainted with Miss Peachblossom ? 

Miss Honeysuckle — Very well. 

Mr. Smiggins — She is such a charming 
young lady— so intelligent— so talkative. 
You can't imagine what a fine conversa- 
tion I had with her just now. 

Miss Honeysuckle — {Ratlier ironical- 
ly)— -very charming, intelligent and talk- 
ative ! 

{Mr. Smiggins pausing, gazes vacantly 
at the floor for a few moments as if try- 
ing to think of something more to say 
but halving "run out of soap," withdraws 
from the room to take a drink with his 
friend, Mr. Simpson. 

Mariueo. — Tn the Presbyterian church 
of Chapel Hill, on the 20th June, by the 
Rev. E. Mitchell, D. D., Mr. Jas. M. Spen- 
cer, to Miss Cornelia Ann, only daughter 
of the Rev. James Phillips, D. D. 

We make this announcement with 
pleasure, and will do so of all ex-editors 
who will do as Mr. Spencer has — come 
back to Chapel Hill and make a selection. 



Mr. S. is now a practicing lawyer of Clin- 
ton, Ala., of high promise. In the bride 
we recognize one of the best friends and 
most acceptable contributors the Maga- 
zine has ever had. "We hope she will 
still favor us with effusions from her 

* ' 

To our Contributors have we a few 

words to say. We return our sincere 
thanks to all who have favored us with 

contributions, or aided us in the least in 
getting out this number of the Magazine. 
This expression of our thanks is extend- 
ed to all, both to those whose articles we 
have thought proper to consign to the 
Baalam-box, and to those whose pieces 
we deem worthy of insertion. We would 
hold out every inducement to those who 
feel inclined to give us their effusions. — 
But especially to our fellow-students 
would we say write, and when you do so 
take pains and prepare your articles with 
diligence and care. The Magazine is 
yours. It is designed for your improve- 

•ment. Let it then be to you a literary 
gymnasium, to which you regularly re- 
pair for practice ; and thus the exercises 
of to-day will prepare you for more skill- 
ful and difficult feats of to-morrow. But 
be sure you learn well one feat before you 
proceed to the next ; or else, in the com- 
plex operations of the gymnasium, you 
will make failures mortifying to your 
pride. In the order of exercises, you will 
perceive that correct orthography, legible 
chirography, grammatical structure, and 
such like, are to be mastered before pro- 
ceeding to combine the analysis of sub- 
jects with the beauties of style. We 
think it would be well, then, for you to 
be more solicitous about these primary 
and indispensable elements, than about 
big words and high-sounding phrases. — 
Don't write half of a page just to bring in 
a pretty expression, for it will certainly 
be at the expense of your argument. 

The stately pompousness in which Dr. 
Johnson delighted, detracted much from 
him as a writer, while - the simplicity and 
freedom from all mannerism, has contri- 
buted much in placing Addison, Hume 
and Goldsmith' among the very best wri- 
ters of the English language. It is said 
that Mr. Webster gave force and raciness 
to his compositions, by using Anglo-Sax- 
on words in every possible instance. — 
That this is true, we doubt not, for words 
of foreign origin destroy that simplicity 
which comports so well with the genius 
of the language, and give to the article 
the features of a patch work, " without 
form or comliness." When reading these 
high-flown pieces, we often think of a 
certain dabbler in literature, who prided 
himself on his knowledge, and proper use 
of the English language. Finding a boy 
fishing upon a mill pond, he thus addres- 
sed him, 

"Adolescens, art thou not endeavoring 
to entice the finny tribe to engulph into 
their denticulated mouths, a barbed hook, 
upon whose point is fixed a dainty allure- 

" No," said the boy, " Tm fishing." 

Let your ideas be good, and then the 
more simplicity, and brevity you use the 
better, provided you express yourself 
clearly. Hear what one says in descri- 
bing a walk at night — 

" It was an hour when Fancy perched 
on Meditation's wings goes up to explore 
the vast empyreal waste, all sanded o'er 
with worlds that slumber like islands of 
the blest in the bosom of space, and scan 
the golden stars that fret with living fire 
the emerald banners of the eternal firma- 

Such flights are too ethereal ; and from 
such dizzy heights the reader is most sine 
to fall into foigetfulness of what has pre- 
ceded. Nothing gives more life and 
sprightliness to a composition, than a 
vivid imagination, but then it should 



be tempered with judgement. These 
thoughts have been suggested by the con- 
tributions we have had upon, or rather 
under our table. 

" Nil Admirari," is declined. Its au- 
thor is lamentably deficient in what we 
have set down as prime elements. 

"Eclalia," undertook a stale subject, 
and his, or perhaps Tier, discussion is 
vague and spiritless. The chirography 
looks decent, but we had as lief under- 
take to decipher hieroglyphics, or to trans- 
late so much Greek. Try again, you have 
a good flow of words, and will yet suc- 
ceed by proper pruning and culture. Let 
us here say for the benefit of all, that 
you should write on the first and third 
pages of your sheet only. Thus you 
save others much trouble, and at the same 
secure the more correct printing of your 

" K. N." we suppose stands for Know- 
Nothing. The author has given us other 
indications of his connection, which he 
should have concealed. When we saw his 
brevity, we looked hard and long for its 
soul-wit, but for some cause or other it 
was not to be found. 

" X. Y. Z." is declined, respectfully. — 
Its author gives unmistakable evidence, 
that he has seen Bassuet, and read Alli- 
son. A large part of the article may 
possibly be very good, for we confess that 
we could not understand it. We cannot 
take " omne ignotum pro magnifico." — 
We must see, at least the meaning of the 

We hope these remarks will be received 
in the kind spirit in which they are in- 
tended. We are far from wishing to dis- 
courage any one, but duty forces us to 
be just to the Magazine, before we are 
generous to our contributors. 

To Subscribers in arrears, we say, pay 
up, — we need yourjnoney. You have gi- 
ven evidence of interest in our undertak- 
ing, by subscribing ; we now want an as- 

surance of your regard more tangible and 
effective. We owe our obliging publish- 
er, a good large sum. We want to pay it, 
and appeal to you for aid. Will you per- 
mit a man to suffer great pecuniary loss 
by publishing this the only Magazine in 
the State ? The mere subscription list of 
a periodical is not sufficient to give it per- 
manence and stability-. Let this appeal 
arouse your State pride, and prompt you 
to do your duty, i. e., pay for the Maga- 
zine OjS subscribed for ; and accompany 
the remittances with about two new sub- 
scribers each ! But this would be too 
good ! We suspect we should then get 
out a periodical worth at least five dollars, 
and you would have to pay only two. — 
Try it friends, and sec how it will work ! 
Those at a distance will please make re- 
mittances to Wm. D. Cooke, Raleigh. — 
Those on the Hill will please call for a mo- 
ment at No. 7, W. B. 

On; Exchanges, wc are happy to say, 
come regularly. The Stylus, Yale Lit- 
erary, Georgia University, Oglethorpe 
University ; all these Magazines are very' 
similar in design, to our own. 

AVc extend to the new editors of the 
"Yale Lit." the right hand of fellowship, 
and wish them much success. In the June 
No. of Oglethorpe we noticed a vyell writ- 
ten article headed "Fanny Fern." — 
Though we admire the style of this wri- 
ter, we cannot commend the abusive epi- 
thets he heaps upon one of our most fas- 
cinating writers, N. P. Willis. We 
think that this harsh judgment has been 
formed upon reasons insufficient. If 
j "Fanny Fern," be "Ruth Hall," and the 
j latter Willis' sister, she would have acted 
| much more honorable to have sought 
j other methods of revenge, ifjrevenge she 
must have. But if she does not sustain 
this relation to him, she' is in a very high 
degree blameable for suffering the public 
to think so. In either event then we see 
nothing in her to commend. We have 

28 3 


read Ruth Hall, and that, too, with plea- 
sure, but it was pleasure derived from fic- 
tion and not from truth. "We confess 
that we are admirers of Fanny Fern, and 
have no disposition, even were we able, 
to tarnish her * bright name." But we 
are not blind to her faults, neither are we 
insensible to the merit of Willis. He 
may be a " mincing, conceited, tiptoeing, 
be-curled, be-fumed popingjay," and a 
" miserable mortal," still all this belongs 
to his private and not to his public char- 
acter. It is of this last we must judge ; 
the first belongs to gossips " and heroes 
of the tongue." Let those interested fight 
it out ; the public is not often intrusted 
with family broils. 

Graham's Magazine, comes to hand 
full, as usual, of interesting matter, and 
embellished with elegant steel engravings. 
It is a family Magazine of the highest 

The Southern Ctltivator, is a large 
octavo of thirty-two pages, published in 
Agusta, Ga. 

The Carolina Cultivator makes de- 
cidedly the neatest appearance of any 
agricultural journal we have seen. From 
the character of its publisher, we feel 
safe in saying that it will prove of inesti- 
mable value to the farming interests of 
the State. 

The sixth Annual Catalogue of a Fe- 
male Medical College, located in Philadel- 
phia, has found its way to our room, 
(will some of the old corps inform us 
where the editorial Sanctum is of which 
they delighted to speak ?) Never haA - 
ing seen a similar catalogue we were 
pleased to examine it, thinking it some- 
thing rather " new under the sun." — 
By the way, we like the plan amazingly. 
W T ho dare say that it is not one of wo- 
man's inalienable rights to be a doctor if 
she choose ? And besides, it is just as 
clear that such a college is the very place 
for some of our " Modern belles," as it 
was that Simon's dog was good for coons, 
he was good for nothing else, and ex ne- 
cessitate, he must be good for coons ! 

Woman is, no doubt, ambitious ; there 
opens to her this, field of scientific re- 
search, and our "modern beaux," will 
be supplanted in the practice of physic, 
by their more charming rivals over "mo- 
dern belles." Miss Cleopatra jiEsculapius 
M. D., Offers her professional services to 
the citizens of this village. Office oppo- 
site the Book Store. Whew f Oh, yes, 
let them learn the healing art, and then, 
verily will they be ministering angels to 
give us calomel, soothe our grief, and heal 
our broken hearts. Wont they ? 




Vol. IV. 


No. 7. 


The early notices of Carolina in their 
scketches of Natural History, the condi- 
tion of society, &c, made hardly any dis- 
tinction between the two parts into which, 
for the purposes of government, it was 
early divided. The Historical Society of 
the University in their first Report re- 
marked of Carroll's Historical Collections 
of South Carolina that "Mr. Carroll might 
with obvious propriety, have given his 
work the more comprehensive title of 
Historical Collections of Carolina. The 
Northern portion of the province was first 
settled, and a respectable portion of his 
pages have quite as much relation to the 
region North as South of Cape Fear. If, 
with this change of title, he would give 
i us a third volume, made up of Lawson's 
and Brickell's Histories of North Caroli- 
i na, he would render his compilation near- 
] ly complete, and would present a fair 
i claim for patronage on " the colder side 
of the Tweed. 

To the works named above as desirable 

i additions to the Historical Collections of 

Carolina we may add one more, which 

seems to have escaped the researches of 

\ Mr. Carroll, and which is certainly not 

less valuable than several of those he 

has given to the public. The title of 

it is "A Letter from South Carolina : " 

giving an account of the soil, air, product, 

trade, government, laws, religion, people, 

military strength, &c, of that province. 

Vol. IV.— No. 19. 

Togother with the manner and necessary 
changes of settling a plantation there, 
and the annual profits it will produce, 
written by a Swiss gentleman to his friend 
at Bern." It was printed at London, in 
1710, in a small quarto of 63 pages ; and 
reprinted in 8 vo. in 1732, and perhaps 
also as Mr. Rich suggests (Biblioth Amer. 
Nov., p. 17,) in 1718. The copy given 
below is made from the edition of 1732, 
and is designed to be an exact reprint,, 
retaining the spelling, capitals, &c. of the 
original ; a few words only, occurring on 
a torn leaf at the beginning, being sup- 
plied by an obvious conjecture, and a 
few lines a little further on, which have 
defied our efforts at restoration, being 
omitted. The omission is duly mark- 

Of the value of this work to those who 
would have a clear knowledge of the con- 
dition of things in this country an hun- 
dred and fifty years ago, we need not 
speak. We will only say that it ia ex- 
tremely rare. The copy before us is the 
only one we have ever seen, and we are 
not aware that another can be found in 
the United States. It came into the pos- . 
session of the Historical Society of the 
University among the papers of Judge 
Murphy. He procured it probably from 
Benjamin Smith, Governor of the State 
in 1810, whose autograph it bears, and 
who seems (from a note on it in hia hand- 



writing) to have inherited it among his 
father's books. 




By the last Letters from you, which I 
had the Honour to receive, you was pleas'd 
to acquaint me with the Intention of some wor- 
thy Gentlemen of Bern, to settle a Fund for 
transporting annually a few Supernumeraries 
of our Nation, to the Province of Carolina ,* a 
Design both truly pious and generous, which 
at the same time consults the Interest of Re- 
ligion, and the Civil Benefit of Mankind. How 
much better is it for those who have but a 
small Subsistence at home, to retire to a Place 
where they may with moderate Industry be 
supplied with all the necessaries of Life, than 
to follow the miserable Trade of Destroying for 
a shilling a Day ? How much better for them 
to improve their own Lands, for the use of 
themselves, and Posterity; to sit under their 
own Vine, and eat the Fruit of their Labour; 
than to be Instruments in the Hands of Tyrants, 
to ravage and depopulate the Earth j and that 
only to procure a poor maintenance, and for 
which there must hereafter be render'd a strict 
and severe Account ? 

Since I have been settled here, and for some 
time enjoyed the many pleasures and Delights 
of a quiet peaceable Life, I have often reflected 
on the unhappy Condition of the Military Im- 
ployment, which I exchanged for this where- 
with I am now blessed. What constant trou- 
bles, Dangers and Fatigues attend it ! How 
deplorable is it to behold the daily Ravages we 
are oblig'd to make ! Who would not be mov'd 
with the Tears and Lamentations of the mis- 
erable ? A free People, surrounded with potent 
Neighbours, must indeed and ought to be 
brave, and military, perfectly vers'd in Arms, 
either for their own Defence, or to assist their 
injur'd Allies. Nor is there any Name more 
great and noble than that of a Soldier ; but 
then he must be one, ,who, like the Ancient 
Heroes, makes it his Business to destroy mon- 
sters, assist the Impotent, redress Injuries, op- 
pose Tyranny, and root out Oppression from 
the face of the Earth. But to follow war meer- 
ly as a Trade, to hire ones self to the best Bid- 
der, without Respect to the merits of the Cause, 
is what we could never reconcile to the Princi- 
ples either of revealed, or natural Religion : 

For this seems to be the perfect Reverse of do- 
ing as we would be done by. And what shocks 
me most of all is, that some People devote 
their Children to the Wars before, or at least 
as soon as they are born. This seems to me 
rather Worse, if possible, than the old heathe- 
nish Custom of sacrificing them to appease the 
Wrath of some angry God, for then the Mis- 
chief ended with the Lives of some few unfor- 
tunate Victims ; but we sacrifice ours to a de- 
vouring Deity, who together with their own 
Deaths makes them the occasion of that of ma- 
ny Innocents. And what renders these things 
more inexcusable is, that 'tis plain, Mankind 
is not redue'd to the unhappy Necessity of 
Killing one another for Bread ; since upon a 
due calculation, the Earth is so far from being 
overstock'd with People, that 'tis capable of 
containing ten times the Number of its present 
Inhabitants. What vast and goodly Countries 
are there in the World, wholly, or for the most 
part unpeopled, and yet very capable of produc- 
ing all things both for the Necessity and con- 
veniency of Life ? An Instance of which is this 
Province, whereof since ycu are pleas'd to de- 
sire some Account from me, I shall, without 
any Apology, proceed to obey your commands, 
and in as small a compass as possible, give you 
a View of such Things as are necessary to be 
known, by one who designs to settle there, 
to which I shall principally confine my Dis- 

Carolina is a Province of the English Ameri- 
ca, joining on the North-East to Virginia, be- 
tween 36 and 29 Degrees North Latitude. It 
is divided into two Governments, commonly 
call'd North and South Carolina. North Caro- 
lina joins to Virginia, and that Part thereof 
now inhabited by the English, lies between 35 
and 36 Degrees N. Latitude. The Parts of 
South Carolina, now possess'd by the English, 
lie between 32 and 33 Degrees N. Latitude, and 
about 60 Degrees Longitude, West from the 
Lands-End of England. 

Between the same Parallels with South Car- 
olina, lie some of the most fertile Countries in 
the World, as some Parts of the Coast of Barba- 
ry, al! the middle Part of China, from the mid- 
dle to the South Parts of Japan, those Countries 
of India about Lahore, the best part of Persia. 
Egypt and Syria. 

Carolina is in general a plain champain 
country, having no considerable Hills for tht 
Space of 1000 Miles together along the coast, 
within 100 Miles of the Sea. 



The most common and usual Distance from 
the Foot of the Mountains to the Sea, is about 
200 Miles. The Springs and Fountains of most 
of our great Rivers are in these Hills, which 
abound with innumerable Rivulets, and these 
meeting afterwards together, form many large 
Rivers; by the Course of which it appears, that 
the Land has a gradual, tho' insensible Descent 
from the Mountains to the Sea. 

This great Plain is one continued Forest, well 
stock'd with Oaks of several Kinds Chesnut, 
Walnut, Hickory; several Kinds, of Firr, 
Cypress of two Kinds, Cedar, Poplar, or the 
Tulip-tree, Laurel, Bay, Myrtle, Hasel, Beech, 
Ash, Elm, and Variety of others, whose Names 
are scarce known. 

The Sea-coast is full of Islands, Sounds, 
! Bays, Marshes, Rivers, and Creeks of Salt- 
Water, where the Tide useth to rise from 5 foot 
to 7, seldom higher. 

This Province is capable of containing above 
I 60 times the number of its present inhabitants ; 
iand there is no place in the Continent of Ame- 
■ rica, whore people can transport themselves to 
i greater advantage. 

Now as South Carolina far excells the other 
in improvements and navigable Rivers, I shall 
confine my Discourse to that, and acquaint you 
with its Product, Trade, Government, People, 
I Laws, and lastly, with an Account of what is 
necessary to settle a Man comfortably there. 

Besides the Things already mention'd, South 
Carolina naturally produces Black Mulberries, 
■Walnuts, Chesnuts, Chincapines, which is a 
small Chesnut, and five or six Kinds of Acorns, 
j all which the Indians, like the Primitive Race 
of Mankind, make use of for Food ; " ild Pota- 
toes, and several other eatable Roots, wild 
| Plums, Variety of Grapes, Medlars, Huckle- 
berries, Strawberries, Hasel-nuts, Myrtle- 
' berries, of which Wax is made ; also Cedar- 
berries, Sumach, Sassafras, China-Root, great 
and small Snake-root, with Variety of other 
Physical Roots and Herbs, and many Flowers, 
which spring up of themselves, and flourish in 
their Kind, every Season of the Year. 

Many things have likewise been transplanted 
lither, which thrive very well with us, as White 
Mulberries, Grapes from the Maderas, and else- 
where , all Kinds of English Garden-herbs, six 
H seven sorts of Potatoes, all of them very 
pod ; Indian Corn three sorts, Indian Pease 
! iye or six Kinds, Indian Beans several Kinds, 
Kidney-beans,French Beans, Pompions, Squash- 
is, Gourds, Pomelons, Cucumbers, Mush-mel- 
>ns, Water-melons, Tobacco, Rice three or 

four sorts, Oats, Rie, Barley, and some Wheat, 
tho' not much. 

Our Fruits are Apples, Pears, Quinces, Figs 
three or four Kinds, Oranges, Pomegranates, 
Peaches fourteen or fifteen sorts. 

Tho' we have as great Variety of good 
Peaches as any Place, perhaps, in the World, 
yet the principal Use made of them is to feed 
Hogs, for which End, large Orchards are plant- 
ed. The Peachtrees with us are all Standards ; 
i hey yield Fruit in three Years from the Stone, 
the fourth Year bear plentifully, and the fifth 
are large spreading Trees. 

Most Kinds of British Fruits prosper best up' 
in the country, at some Distance from Salt 
Water ; but Figs, Peaches, Pomegranates and 
the like, grow best nigh the sea. 

Our season of sowing is from the first of 
March to the tenth of June. The principal 
seed-time of Rice, from the first of April to the 
twentieth of May ; of Indian Corn, Pease and 
Beans, the last week of March, all April, May, 
and the first ten Days of June. In March and 
April we set Potatoes, Pompions, Cucumbers, 
Melons, Kidney-beans, &c. 

The usual produce of an acre of Indian Corn, 
is from 18 to 30 Bushels, and 6 Bushels of In- 
dian Pease, which run like a Vine among the 
Corn : About a Gallon of Indian Corn sows an 

Rice is sowed in Furrows, about 18 Inches 
distant, a Peck usually sows an Acre, which 
yields seldom less than 30 Bushels, or more 
than 60, but betwixt these two, as the Land is 
either better or worse. 

Rice is reap'd in September, to the eighth of 
October ; Indian Corn and Pease from the first 
of October to the tenth of N ovember : Several 
Kinds of Pulse are ripe in May and June. 

We have Pompions, Melons, Cucumbers, 
Squashes, and other Vine-Fruits, which ripen, 
and are eat all the Summer, from the middle of 
June to the first of October. Fig-trees bear two 
crops a year, one ripe at the end of June, the 
other all August. By so great variety of 
Peaches, Melocotons, and Nectarines, there is 
this advantage, that we have them in season 
from the 20th of June to the end of September, 
for during all that time, one kind or another of 
them is in perfection. 

Rice is clean 'd by Mills, turned with Oxen 
or Horses. 'Tis very much sow'd here, not 
only because it is a vendible commodity, 
but thriving best in low moist lands, it in- 
clines people to improve that sort of Ground, 
which being planted a few years with Rice, and 
then laid by, turns to the best pasture. 



Silk-worms with us are hatch'd from the eggs 
about the 6th oi March, Nature having wisely 
ordain'd them to enter into this new Form of 
Being, at the same time that the Mulberry- 
Leaves, which are their Food, begin to open. 
Being attended and fed six weeks, they eat no 
more, but have small bushes set up for them to 
spin themselves into Balls, which thrown into 
Warm Water, are wound off into raw silk. 

Rosin, Tar and Pitch are all produc'd from 
the Pine-trees ; Rosin, by cutting. Channels in 
the standing green trees, that meet in a point at 
the foot of the ttee, where two or three small 
pieces of Board are fitted to receive it. The 
Channels are cut as high as one can reach with 
an Axe, and the bark is peeled off from all those 
parts of the tree that arc expos'd to the sun, 
that the Heat of it may the more easily force 
out the Turpentine, which fa